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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660194">For All Life's Little Injuries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles'>PumpkinDoodles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taserbones Tumblr Prompts &amp; Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [33]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Candy, F/M, Fluff, Tumblr Prompts, ridiculous fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:33:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian doesn't really respond to Darcy's "bids" anymore. But what can she do?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taserbones Tumblr Prompts &amp; Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [33]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>897</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Alone Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesterxgirl/gifts">winchesterxgirl</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m going to check the mail,” Darcy announced, desperately trying to avoid the tension in their SHIELD lab. Jane was off on a Northern Lights sightseeing trip with Thor, so it was just she and Ian working today. </p><p>“Fine,” Ian said. He was purposefully not looking at her. They were fighting. It was an old fight: Darcy wanted Ian to make a little more effort in the relationship. She’d read a thing about how people who responded to each other’s “bids” for attention--conversation, gifts, etc.--were happier. She was trying to respond to his chatting about soccer and do nice things for him, like tracking down his favorite hiking boots and making him cheddar ale soup. But he never bought her birthday and Christmas presents, routinely left the room in the middle of her stories, and rolled his eyes when she was excited about new socks or baking supplies. He’d sneered at her Black Widow themed--black and red--sprinkles last night and she’d called him an asshole. They were still not speaking. With a look over her shoulder, Darcy left the lab.</p><p> </p><p>“This is the problem with living and working with someone,” she muttered to herself. She got on the elevator. </p><p>“Hmm?” a voice said behind her. When Darcy turned to face the door, she realized it was Commander Rumlow getting on the elevator with her.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said apologetically. “Jane’s gone, so I’m talking to myself now.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, giving her one of his scarred smirks. The doors shut. Darcy liked Brock Rumlow. He’d been a triple agent during the HYDRA thing and been badly injured when the old Triskelion building collapsed. “So, Braithwaite left town, too?” he asked. Darcy frowned in confusion.</p><p>“Braithwaite?”</p><p>“Your boyfriend?” he said.</p><p>“Ohhh, Ian. His last name is Boothby--” Darcy said.</p><p>“My mistake,” Rumlow said.</p><p>“--and we’re fighting right now,” she confided, sighing. “We need Jane and Thor as a buffer apparently, or we fight about dumb stuff. He sneered at my new cupcake sprinkles, so I called him an asshole yesterday and now I’m getting the silent treatment.” She was blabbing, Darcy knew, but it felt good to vent a little. Rumlow grimaced. “Sorry,” Darcy said. “I’m girling out on you. Again, no Jane.”</p><p>“It’s all right,” he said. They rode in silence. “You make good cupcakes,” he said suddenly. “Rollins saved me one after that meeting with Foster.”</p><p>“Oh, the galaxy ones?” she asked. He nodded. “Yeah, they turned out well. I use coffee when I make chocolate cake. But I just got edible glitter with the new sprinkles, so they’ll look even better. I'm going to make the icing sparkle.”</p><p>“They make edible glitter?” Rumlow said. She laughed at his perplexed expression.</p><p>“Just for bakers and strippers,” Darcy joked. Rumlow made a strangled sound and then she realized he was laughing. He got off on the next floor. </p><p>“That’s a good one,” Rumlow told her, foot on the threshold.</p><p>“Are you fleeing?” she said.</p><p>“Only my worst impulses,” he told her in a wry voice.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A day later, Darcy went to the break room for coffee before they got started for the day and came back to find a package on her desk. A box with a red bow and a tag with her name. She picked it up. “Choc-Aids?” she read aloud. They were chocolates in the shape of band-aids. She grinned. The slogan at the bottom read, ‘for all life’s boo-boos!’ It was funny, she thought. Cute. “Did you do this?” she asked Ian, beaming.</p><p>“No,” he said indifferently, “they were here when I unlocked the lab.”</p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said. “I wonder who left them?” She looked at the tag again, checking the back for a from marker. There wasn’t one. "Who could it be from?" she wondered.</p><p> </p><p>Ian didn’t respond. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>winchesterxgirl prompted this fic--Choc-Aids are real! https://nuts.com/chocolatessweets/novelty/chocolate-bandaids.html</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Pretty Paper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darcy spent the evening puzzling over her chocolate mystery gift. Ian was sulking on the couch in the spare bedroom--blasting sports at full volume--so she took the opportunity to be cozy in her bed: her favorite socks (mac n’ cheese print), pajamas, and more pillows and blankets than Ian ever liked. She was nicely snuggled. She’d made hot cocoa for herself and snuck in a package of her favorite cookies (Milanos). Ian hated eating in bed. Left to her own devices, Darcy loved spending time curled in bed with books, movies, and magazines. The only thing she really wanted was a pet, but Ian was allergic. That put the kibosh on any puppy or kitty cuddles. Then she turned on <em> Midnight in Paris. </em>Woody Allen aside, she loved that movie. She was daydreaming about being in Paris in the twenties when the red of the Choc-Aids’ container on her nightstand caught her eye in the dimly-lit bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>“Who sent you to me?” she wondered out loud. It was fun to have a puzzle, at least. She turned her attention back to Owen Wilson and Marion Cotillard wandering along the Seine. Wouldn’t it be nice to escape into 1925 Paris, she thought wistfully. Romantic. To listen to jazz and drink coffee with someone special. The closest she’d gotten was a brief day of sightseeing in 2015 and a bottle of Shalimar from the drug store. She liked twenties songs and old perfumes. Ian complained both gave him headaches.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Your new equipment’s here,” Darcy whispered into the phone the next morning. “I’m going to try and get it without Ian. He’s in a mood,” she told Jane. She was hiding in the break room. On the other end of the line, Jane sighed.</p><p>“Darce, send him to get it alone,” she said. “He knows how to move equipment, he’s an adult.”</p><p>“You weren’t there when he threw that fit over moving the spectrometer and insisted that we not use the cart because ‘it’s too delicate’ to be rolled or something,” she told Jane. “We both had to carry it when there was a freaking cart and then he spent days complaining about his back!”</p><p>“You know what I think about this,” Jane said. The scientist thought they should break up. She’d been encouraging Darcy to end things with him for several months. Darcy didn’t know how, though. She felt stuck. They were living and working together. How was a break up supposed to go when there was no space between them?</p><p>“Yeah,” she said flatly. “I know. But I just want to get through today.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Jane said.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Darcy said, bringing Ian coffee. He liked almond milk creamer. “Here you go.” She sat it down. He grunted in acknowledgement, glued to his laptop screen. Good, she thought, she could sneak down for the equipment. She just needed the transport cart. Which was currently behind some machines. Darcy repressed a sigh. He’d moved it. Today, apparently. She’d left it out on purpose last night and he’d moved it. God only knew why. She made to get the cart. “I’ll do that,” Ian said, suddenly aware of her. Dammit, she thought.  </p><p>“It’s okay,” Darcy said. “I’ve got it.”</p><p>“No, let me,” he scolded. “Why do you need it?”</p><p>“I’m getting the equipment downstairs,” she told him, as he took over. He began yanking impatiently on Jane’s stuff to get to the cart. He had a bad habit of doing things too hastily. He’d broken several pieces of furniture during their move, just out of impatience. “Really,” Darcy sighed under her breath. She backed up, fully aware of the risk of what would happen next.</p><p> </p><p>Ian was going to fuck something up. </p><p> </p><p>It happened in slow motion: Ian yanked on some equipment, stumbled backward, and knocked several things off Darcy’s desk. They tumbled to the floor. “Shit,” Darcy said, as he stood up. He’d knocked over her coffee, too. It poured off the side of the desk. Right onto one of Darcy’s favorite things, she realized. “Oh, no!” she said. “My card!” Her mom had sent her a beautiful three-dimensional pop up birthday card with the Paris skyline. She’d loved it so much that she displayed it on her desk now. She grabbed paper towels, but it was too late. Brown coffee had already dripped onto the delicate paper. She gazed at it sadly.</p><p>“I’m all right, thanks for asking,” Ian said, stomping back over to yank on the equipment. Darcy bent over to clean up the mess, trying not to cry. Of course, he didn’t apologize. She could have forgiven him, if he would just say he was sorry. Instead, she mopped up the coffee and squeezed her eyes shut as Ian swore behind her. “This bloody thing!” he yelled. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“It needs to go this way,” Ian scolded, piling Jane’s new equipment precariously onto the cart. Darcy repressed a cringe. It looked like it could fall at any moment.</p><p>“Okay, just let me--” she began, wanting to readjust the items, but he’d already started pushing the cart. She had to practically jump out of the way. “Ian!” she said. “Slow down.” Of course, he didn’t acknowledge that she’d said anything, just forced her to go along with it. </p><p>“Keep up, Darce,” he said loudly, as they hustled through the building. “You can’t go any slower.” Several agents overheard him, embarrassing her. Darcy swallowed. “My back bloody hurts from sleeping on the sofa last night,” he complained. She didn’t answer. “What?” he asked her, as they got the cart into the elevator. He was acting like he was perplexed by her being upset.</p><p>“Nothing,” she said flatly. <em> She would not cry in public, she would not cry in public. </em></p><p>“Well, fine,” he said, voice laden with attitude. That was even more upsetting, somehow.</p><p>“You could at least apologize for ruining my card,” Darcy said, as the doors opened and STRIKE Alpha got onto the elevator with him. Rumlow was in front.</p><p>“Hello,” he said, smiling.</p><p>“Hi,” Darcy said, not making eye contact. It was probably obvious she was upset. The doors shut.</p><p>“It was just a bloody card from your mother,” Ian said, as they rode up several floors. "It's not like it's worth anything."</p><p>“I wanted to keep it,” Darcy said in a low voice. When she glanced at Rumlow out of the corner of her eye, he was frowning. </p><p>“Well, why’d you leave it next to the coffee, then?” Ian said. “Your desk isn’t the safest place--”</p><p>“I don’t want to argue with you right now,” she said sharply.</p><p>“I am not the one arguing. You always blame me---” Ian said, as the doors opened and Darcy bolted out. To hell with the cart, she thought. She heard Ian being sharp with whoever was helping him, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she stepped into the lab, retrieved her soggy card from where she’d wedged it between two paper towels, and attempted to dry it off with one of the hand dryers in the ladies’ room. At least she didn’t have to be in the same room with him, she thought bitterly. The card was so fragile, it fell apart at the edges under the blast of the dryer. As the pieces disintegrated, she started to cry a little.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When she came back to the lab, Ian was obviously sulking. But there was more chocolate on her desk. She looked for a name. There was a Post-It sticking to the Choc-Aids.</p><p>In an unfamiliar scrawl, someone had written, <em> I’m sorry, Darcy.  </em></p><p>Definitely not Ian, then.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Pop up cards are so pretty!</p><div>
  <p>
    <br/>
    
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Getting Away With It?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did you take home Jane’s camera?” Darcy asked Ian, as they got on the elevator at lunch. They were riding downstairs to the cafeteria. She had been doing inventory all morning. She thought she’d seen the camera in their guest room. Ian liked to take night sky photographs to impress people--</p><p>“Hello,” a voice said. Darcy looked up. Brock Rumlow and the rest of STRIKE Alpha were already onboard. Rumlow and the tall Australian one, Rollins, both smiled at her. </p><p>“Hi,” she said, smiling back. “We keep running into each other--”</p><p>“Of course I didn’t take home her camera,” Ian cut in sharply. “Have you lost it again?”</p><p>“Ian,” Darcy said, feeling her smile fall. “I’m just inventorying everything.” He made her feel horribly defensive sometimes. </p><p>“Probably a good time to inventory,” Rollins said in a kind voice.</p><p>“Yeah,” Rumlow said, eyes on Darcy. She leaned against the wall. Was she blushing? She felt like she blushed when Rumlow looked at her like that. So intently. Like she was actually being seen. “You have any plans--” he began, but Ian interrupted.</p><p>“She loses everything, you know how women are,” Ian said, with a kind of conspiratorial male chumminess, to the other men on the elevator. Several stared at him blankly. Rollins’s smile went flat--he looked alarmingly homicidal. Rumlow grimaced. Ugh, Darcy thought, he’s embarrassed me again. “You just need to look for it more, Darce,” Ian said, oblivious to the sudden chilly atmosphere of the elevator. </p><p>“I need to look for it more?” Darcy said, quietly angry, as the doors opened on the cafeteria floor.</p><p>“Of course, you’ve misplaced it,” Ian told her, as they stepped off. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You coming on the hiking trip at the weekend?” Rollins asked Rumlow. He’d stopped them so they lagged behind.</p><p>“No,” Rumlow said, eyes focused ahead. Darcy and the British asshole were still bickering as they walked into the cafeteria. Her shoulders were tense. </p><p>“Mate?” Jack said.</p><p>“Do me a favor, Jack,” Rumlow said in a low voice. “Invite asshole Braithewaite on the hiking trip.”</p><p>“Who? Boothby?” Jack said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Rumlow said, feeling himself smile.</p><p>“What are you going to do?” Jack asked. Rumlow didn’t reply. “You’re bloody up to something, aren’t you?”</p><p>“When have I ever been up to something?” Rumlow said. Jack scoffed. </p><p>“I know about them chocolate Band-Aids you keep leaving her,” the Australian said quietly. “She’s been asking around. We all kept quiet,” he added. Rumlow looked away for a second. </p><p>“Just do it,” he ordered, using his professional voice.</p><p>“If you want me to hide his body, I’m gonna need Romanoff,” Jack said. </p><p>“I’m not worried about him,” Rumlow said, watching her. “I just need him out of the way for a few days.” In response, Jack tilted his head and gazed at Lewis and Boothby. </p><p>“Oh, hell, this is going to be a spesh, innit?” Jack said sarcastically. “You can’t just swipe a woman because you feel like it.”</p><p>“Sure,” Rumlow said. He smirked. “Old joke. You can’t steal anybody who doesn’t <em> want </em> to be stolen, Jackie. But if he treats her that badly, who can blame another man for trying?”</p><p>“I forgot about this side of you,” Jack said, shaking his head. During their pre-Triskelion years, Rumlow had been famous for charming his marks. Usually, the unhappily married wives of high-ranking HYDRA officials. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ian had gotten up to throw away his tray, so Darcy let her mind drift as she ate one of her chocolates. She knew she hadn’t moved the camera, she thought. Where had he-- “Hey,” a voice said at her elbow. Darcy jumped. “Shit, sorry,” Brock Rumlow said. He’d sat next to her with a smile. “You jumped this far,” he said, gesturing above her head.</p><p>“You scared me!” Darcy said, laughing a little.</p><p>“Sorry,” he repeated, smiling. “I’m not trying to be a scary guy,” he said dryly. “Even with this face,” he added.</p><p>“Brock Rumlow!” Darcy scolded. “Don’t say that.”</p><p>“Oh, you don’t think I’m scary, huh?” he asked. </p><p>“No,” she said. “Not at all.” His eyes dropped to the wrapper in her hands. </p><p>“You like the Choc-Aids?” he said, smiling.</p><p>“You--you know about them?” Darcy asked, then realized he must’ve left them. “Oh!” she said. “You!” She grinned stupidly. “Why didn’t you sign them?” she asked. “I’ve been asking everybody.”</p><p>“Well,” he said, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s nice to surprise someone, you know?” He leaned in slightly. “It feels like you’re getting away with something.”</p><p>“Getting away with something?” Darcy said archly. It felt like he was flirting with her. Was he? He couldn’t be, she thought. Even with his scars, he was charismatic and handsome. He was seeing someone, surely--</p><p>“I’m glad you like them,” he said. When he smiled, his scars stretched.</p><p>“Oh man, I haven’t even thanked you yet, I’m so rude,” Darcy said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Whoops,” she said, covering her face. Her voice was muffled behind her hands. “I love them,” she said. “Thank you.”</p><p>“It’s all right,” he said. “I have a niece and a nephew, so I’m always on the lookout for things for them,” he told her. “You know, fun stuff.”</p><p>“And I’m probably about as mature as them,” she said, dropping her hands to grin sheepishly.</p><p>“Well, they’re three and five, so you tell me,” Rumlow joked. She laughed. </p><p>“Probably, they’re more grown up,” she admitted. His eyes drifted down to her chest. </p><p>“Hey,” he said. Abruptly, he leaned forward and touched her neck. “Your clasp is turned around, sweetheart,” he said, voice low. </p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling oddly breathless. She sat very still as he fixed her necklace and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Thank you,” she said, swallowing. She had to be blushing. The texture of his scarred fingers felt good against her skin. </p><p>“Not a problem,” he said, voice wry. She was looking at him. He held her gaze for a moment. Darcy didn’t know what to say---</p><p>“I’ve been invited on a hiking trip,” Ian said, smacking down his messenger bag with a thump across the table. Darcy jumped, startled. “It sounds fun,” Ian said.</p><p>“You okay?” Rumlow said.</p><p>“Yeah,” she said, blushing wildly. She avoided his gaze. “A hiking trip?” She looked at Ian instead. She hated hiking. “I hope you didn’t mention me going, please?” she asked. “Ian loves hiking,” she explained to Rumlow, without looking into his eyes directly. She could feel him watching her.</p><p>“Rollins’ trip?” Rumlow said. “This weekend?”</p><p>“Yes,” Ian said. “Of course I didn’t, you couldn’t hack a trip with the likes of these blokes,” Ian told her drily. </p><p>“Yeah,” Darcy said, trying to play it as a joke. She dared to look at Rumlow. He was frowning. “Are you going, too?” she asked.</p><p>“Fuck, no,” Rumlow said, smiling, “I hate hiking. I’m not a nature guy.”</p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said, grinning back. It felt like he’d thrown her a little lifeline.</p><p>“Really?” Ian said, sounding contemptuous. Rumlow looked at him flatly.</p><p>“Nah, I like restaurants,” Rumlow said. “Good food and warm beds.” He half turned his head and smiled at Darcy. “If I’m in a tent, it’s work-related.”</p><p>“Extremely same,” she told him, thinking of New Mexico. She laughed at the memory of cursing desert sand in her shoes and a too-cheap lumpy sleeping bag. </p><p>“I’ve got a new place I want to try,” Rumlow said. “Why don’t you and I go this weekend while the hiking crew’s away?”</p><p>“Oh. A restaurant?” she said slowly.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said.</p><p>“Okay. Sure,” Darcy said happily---and then immediately looked to Ian. She expected him to object. That was when she realized he was looking at his phone and hadn’t even noticed.</p><p>“I’m going to see if I can get this new bit of hiking clobber before Friday,” Ian said, standing up.</p><p>“Good for you,” Rumlow said casually. Ian wandered away, eyes on his phone. “So, I’ll meet you at the restaurant on Friday?” Rumlow asked Darcy. He wrote down a name and address on the back of one of his professional cards. And a phone number. “This is my personal cell phone number, so you can call in case something comes up. Or whenever you want to talk,” he told her.</p><p>“Yes,” she said, feeling a weird, secret thrill at his smile. </p><p> </p><p>Like she was getting away with something.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Long Weekend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Cream or sugar?” Darcy asked Jack Rollins. He’d come to pick up Ian and was sitting on her couch, long legs extended and smile friendly. Darcy had been surprised by the early knock on her door. They were leaving for this trip at three in the morning, oddly enough.</p><p>“Two sugars, please,” he said.</p><p>“So,” Darcy said. “You hike at night?” Rollins was wearing a pair of giant hiking boots. She was still in her pajamas.</p><p>“More or less,” Rollins said.</p><p>“That sounds terrifying,” she confessed, bringing him a travel mug. “I’d probably fall off a mountain, I have weird luck like that.”</p><p>“Nawt,” Rollins said, “we’d keep an eye on you, love.” He sipped her coffee.</p><p>“I fell off a plane once,” Darcy said, grinning. Rollins choked a little.</p><p>“Pardon?” he said. “You fell off a plane?”</p><p>“Well, technically, it was those metal steps that they make you go down outside. Just the last three, thank God. But ‘fell off a plane’ is so fun to say,” she said, smiling. There was a thunk and swearing from the guest room. </p><p>“Are you all packed?” Darcy called out to Ian. “Or do you need help?”</p><p>“I don’t need any bloody help!” he called back. Darcy rolled her eyes at his grumpiness, then realized Rollins had caught her expression. </p><p>“He’s very excited about this trip,” she told the Australian.</p><p>“I’m sure you’re excited as well,” he said drily. His grin was frankly wicked. “Gettin’ him out from underfoot and all that.” Darcy tried not to grin back.</p><p>“And I appreciate you asking him”--she lowered her voice-- “even if I don’t know why?”</p><p>“Orders from above,” he said. Darcy frowned; she didn’t understand what he meant. Fury? Or was it some weird Australian slang? She was going to say so, when Ian came out of the bedroom. He was muttering and swearing as he lugged a too-heavy pack.</p><p>“Morning, mate,” Rollins said, mouth crooking at one corner.</p><p>“I made you coffee,” Darcy said, bouncing up to fill Ian’s travel thermos. She could tell Ian was struggling with the weight of his gear. “Are you sure that’s not too many things to drag around?” she asked Ian. She thought he might be miserable carrying all that for the whole weekend. “You guys probably have lots of extra stuff, right?” she added, looking at Jack for support.</p><p>“That’s true--we do--” Jack began, but Ian interjected.</p><p>“I need all my gear, Darce,” he said, sounding stubborn. “These are all essentials!”</p><p>“All right,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. From behind Ian, Rollins winked at her.</p><p>“We’ll take care of him, Darce,” he said, with what Darcy thought was an air of mirth. She passed Ian his travel thermos and then walked them to the door. It was pitch black outside. </p><p>“Have fun on your trip!” she called, as they trudged out to Rollins’ SUV.</p><p> </p><p>Then she locked the door behind them and crawled back into bed. She was going to enjoy this weekend, Darcy thought, as she drifted back to sleep. Sleep in as late as she wanted. Wear pajamas all day. Eat Pop-Tarts in bed, even. And have dinner with Brock Rumlow tonight....</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Ian Boothby. This is Callahan,” Rollins said, introducing the other SHIELD employees to him. Most of them were STRIKE, Ian had gathered, based on Rollins’ description of them as the two men drove to the national park in Virginia. During the drive, Rollins had told him terrifying stories. Chiefly about Rumlow, but also the other Alpha agents. </p><p>“Callahan,” Ian repeated, as Jack went around the circle of men standing in the dark. They were all intimidating-looking. Ian shifted his pack nervously. </p><p>“Smith, Rodriguez, Evans, and Lee,” Rollins said. </p><p>“Good to have you,” Callahan said. “Looks like you’ve got a heavy bag there, friend.” </p><p>“Gonna be a tough hike,” Rodriguez said. “Hope you can hack it.”</p><p>“I’ll manage,” Ian said, trying to convey British nonchalance.</p><p>“Just stick close in the dark,” Evans said dryly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian said. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Thirty minutes later, Ian was dragging his feet up the hiking trail in the dark. The other guys were ahead of him. He’d told them to go ahead. His pack was weighing him down. He couldn’t keep up. But he needed them to be out of sight when he ditched some of the gear. The park had an anti-littering policy. Evans had mentioned it. Approvingly. They were law enforcement, after all. Ian sighed. He was so busy thinking of his own misery, he missed th tree root at the trail’s edge. He stumbled. “Fuck,” he swore, when he landed with a thud. With the backpack weighing him down, it was a struggle to get back up. It took several attempts. He fell twice, half off the ground, swearing under his breath. It was acutely embarrassing. He was glad the dark would hide the dirt stains on his knees and the scrapes on his palms. “Guys?” he yelled, when he was finally upright again. “Guys?!”</p><p> </p><p>The only sound was the wind in the trees and the odd sound of crickets and frogs. He was alone in the dark. “Guys?” Ian said weakly. Something snapped in the darkness. He felt a wave of panic. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Where’s the little schmuck at, Jack?” Callahan asked quietly. Rollins peered through his binoculars. They were uphill of Boothby, concealed in the underbrush. They’d been tracking him for hours, as he grew increasingly lost, dropped most of his gear, yelled, and was now talking to himself. The sun has risen, the day was half-gone, and Boothby still hadn’t gotten his bearings. He’d actually wandered so far off the trails that there were no recreational hikers around to help him, which surprised Jack.</p><p>“Three-hundred feet that way,” Rollins said. “He’s still got water and food. Evans and Rodriguez getting his stuff?”</p><p>“Yup,” Callahan said, smirking. Evans didn’t like litterers. Odds were, he’d make the argument for leaving Boothby all weekend when he got back. “Boss really likes Darcy Lewis, huh?”</p><p>“I think so,” Jack said. </p><p>“Gonna be fireworks on Monday,” Callahan said. </p><p>“Rumlow can handle Boothby,” Jack said.</p><p>“Can he handle Darcy Lewis?” Smith cracked. Callahan chuckled wryly. </p><p><br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy felt a flutter of nerves as she reached the restaurant. A very nice restaurant. It was in a converted townhouse, which was one of those DC codes for high-end and expensive, she was learning.  Rumlow had texted her directions about where to find parking while she was in the lab today. She’d mastered DC parking, but she wasn’t sure about her outfit. Darcy smoothed down the dress she was wearing as she walked in. She’d dressed like it was a date. And she wasn’t going to feel guilty about that, she thought. This wasn’t a real date or anything like that. But she wanted to dress up a little and have dinner at a nice restaurant with pleasant company. Maybe Jane was right. She should end things with Ian. “I’m meeting someone here?” she told the hostess. “Rumlow?”</p><p>“He’s already here,” the hostess said. They’d grown so far apart, she thought, as the hostess led her to the table. Ian might actually be happier without h---</p><p>“Hi,” Brock Rumlow said, half-rising. His eyes met hers. “You look great.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, momentarily forgetting about Ian. She’d never seen Rumlow in civilian clothes before. “I’ve never seen you out of tactical gear,” she said, sitting down. “It’s...different.”</p><p>“Yeah?” he said, eyes alert.</p><p>“Good, good different, I mean,” Darcy said quickly. She’d made it awkward. “Handsome, I mean.” She covered her face in embarrassment. He laughed at her. “Stop,” Darcy said, feeling herself blush. “Ugh, I didn’t mean to be rude.” </p><p>“You weren’t being rude,” he said dryly. She looked at him. He smirked slowly. “You think I’m handsome? All this?” He gestured to his scarred face. "You know, SHIELD'll cover better glasses, honey--"</p><p>"Brock!" she said. "Stop putting yourself down like that," she told him urgently. "I hate when you do that."</p><p>"Do you now?" he said, still smiling.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Guess who "fell off a plane" (steps) once? This girl, lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Help Me, Oprah</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I did try calling you when I thought the world was ending! SHIELD, I mean,” Darcy clarified. She’d started out telling Rumlow about how she and Ian met. She thought it was a little strange that he’d asked, but he wanted to know. “So, eventually, Ian--who thinks I’m bonkers at this point--agrees to help me bust Erik--”</p><p>“Selvig?” Rumlow said. She nodded.</p><p>“He’d been arrested for some Stonehedge-adjacent nudity and was under observation,” she told him, gesturing. </p><p>“Uh-huh,” Rumlow said, grinning so his scars twisted. He’d been smiling like that all night. “Jane disappears, you call us and get the runaround, and so naturally you decide to jailbreak Selvig?”</p><p>“It wasn’t jail. It was a healthcare facility. And they were really nice,” Darcy said, grinning back. “I didn’t know what else to do! So, Ian pretends to be Erik’s son, we bust him out, there are freaky crows everywhere, Ian actually <em> believes </em> Erik, even though we were together when Jane disappeared--”</p><p>“But not you?” Rumlow said, tilting his head slightly. “Why’s that?” The question made her pause. Darcy huffed. She’d thought about that before. </p><p>“I’m too cute to be believed,” she joked, trying for breeziness and pulling a face. Rumlow chuckled. “I don’t know why he didn’t listen to me. You think I’m believable, right? You’d trust me if I told you we have to make an emergency plan for the end of the world?” she asked.</p><p>“Oh, I’d insist on it, sweetheart,” he said in a teasing voice. “If the world’s ending, I want you to tell me. There are some things I’d want to do.”</p><p>“Well, I appreciate that,” Darcy said, feeling herself blush. She didn’t know why she felt self-conscious. He was just <em> looking </em> at her. So much looking. And such pretty eyes, she thought. All that focused concentration was vaguely alarming. Her heart rate picked up a little and she tried to be more animated to hide her nervousness. “Anyhow, Jane and Thor come back, thank the Gods, Ian and I set out the doohickeys to help fight the Elves, and one of them threw a car at me." Rumlow looked stunned.  "A whole car! I am not exaggerating!" she insisted.</p><p>"I believe you," he said.</p><p>"Okay. Well, the car just missed me because of Ian. He saved my life and, uh, I kissed him,” Darcy explained, “like you do when someone saves your life.”</p><p>"I'll make sure to remember that," he said, chuckling.</p><p>"Yes, do," Darcy said, still feeling oddly flustered. "It's important information."</p><p>“You made the first move, huh?” he said, surprising her. </p><p>“Oh, um. I’m not sure Ian would have ever made a move on his own,” she said. “He’s very English that way. I pursued him, basically. And we’ve, uh, been together ever since. Also, I dropped him. Literally, dropped him. On the ground.” She gestured, mimicking letting go.</p><p>“You dropped him?” Rumlow said, laughing.</p><p>“The doohickeys teleported us while I was kissing him, Jane yelled ‘Darcy!,’ and it startled me, is all,” she explained. “And he’s heavy!”</p><p>“I would probably drop him, too,” Rumlow said, voice wry. Darcy giggled. He reached over and offered to refill her wine, fingers grazing hers gently. </p><p>“Hey, hey,” she said. “I’m driving!”</p><p>“You want me to drive you home?” he offered. “I can do that.”</p><p>“What about your car?” she said. He shrugged.</p><p>“This is my neighborhood, I was gonna walk home,” he said.</p><p>“And you’re safe to drive?” Darcy asked.</p><p>“HYDRA serum,” he said, eyes on her face. “Can’t get drunk. I burn through the alcohol too fast.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said, biting her lip nervously. She didn’t know how to respond. “That’s uh…”</p><p>“It’s my favorite side effect, along with not being dead,” he said. “The face is, uh, less fun, but I can’t get hangovers now.” He smirked.</p><p>“Oh God,” Darcy said, covering her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Why are you apologizing?” he said, eyebrows going up.</p><p>“It’s what I do!” she said. He started to laugh at her alarmed voice. “Whenever I feel I’ve crossed a conversational boundary or something...” she murmured, trailing off.</p><p>“Why don’t you have more wine, baby?” Rumlow said. “I’ll take care of you and maintain that, uh, conversational boundary.”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. He filled her wine glass. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Not a problem,” he said. He kept asking her questions about her likes and dislikes, she and Ian’s history, what her wishes were. “You and him going to get married, have kids one day?” he asked. “You’ve been together long enough.” Was it her imagination, or did he stress the last two words?</p><p>“Well, he’d have to ask me first. That’s generally how it works,” Darcy said. </p><p>“Oh, yeah?” he said wryly. “You could ask him.”</p><p>“He’d have a cow,” Darcy said. “A literal cow. Probably a rare British heritage breed!” She felt tipsy and realized she was laughing too loud. Rumlow grinned at her.</p><p>“So, you’re not going to do that, huh?”</p><p>“How would you react if a woman asked you?” Darcy pointed out.</p><p>“Depends entirely on the woman,” he said smoothly.</p><p>“Lies,” Darcy said.</p><p>“You’re accusing me of lying?” he said.</p><p>“Lies, damned lies, and statistics,” she said dryly. </p><p>“Huh?” Rumlow said.</p><p>“It’s a line. You know, a scale? Stats are misleading. But I’m probably nearing the statistical end of my marrying days,” she said, sighing. “If Ian doesn’t ask me sometime, it’s phhhffffft.” She gestured downwards and made a failing star noise. “Unless I find somebody real old or something like that--what?” Darcy said. Rumlow was staring at her with a wide beaming smile. He looked absolutely delighted. </p><p>“Have I mentioned I’m fifty one?” he said.</p><p>“Oh Jesus, just let the floor swallow me now,” she said, cringing. “Why do I even talk around you?”</p><p>“For the record, I’m fine with it--”</p><p>“Lying again!” she said.</p><p>“I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow,” he said in a warm, low voice. When she looked up at him, his eyes were positively gleaming. </p><p>“Oh,” she said. Intelligently.</p><p>“Darcy,” he said. “I, uh--”</p><p>“Yeah?” she said, heart beating too fast. Rumlow licked his lips and looked at her intently. She felt herself shiver.</p><p>“Shit,” he said, looking away suddenly.</p><p>“What?” Darcy said, glancing over her shoulder. There was nothing of note behind them.</p><p>“I can’t do it,” he said. “I, uh, have a history. With HYDRA--”</p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said sympathetically. He smirked.</p><p>“It’s nothing to feel sorry over. I used to be really good at seducing people,” he said. “I could get people to tell me things. So, I, uh, invited you to dinner so I could seduce you--”</p><p>“You’re joking!”</p><p>“No,” he said, frowning.</p><p>“Meeeeeeee?” Darcy said, snort-laughing at the word seduce. “No way!” That seemed to surprise him. His eyebrows went up. Rumlow cleared his throat.</p><p>“As I was saying, my intention was to seduce you and you then convince you to come home with me,” he said lightly, thumbing at his glass.</p><p>“You terrible, terrible man,” Darcy said. God, she was tipsy, because it was all oddly funny. Him! Seducing her? Ridiculous. Absolutely silly. At her tone, he looked up, smiling again.</p><p>“Probably,” he said. “But, uh, I can’t do that to you. You’re too good a person, you’d feel guilty later,” he added, looking oddly sincere. Darcy looked, at him for a moment. Just stared. She was trying to sort out her thoughts when it dawned on her.</p><p>“Don’t you do that to me, Brock Rumlow!” Darcy said.</p><p>“Do what?” he said, almost innocently.</p><p>“Charm me with rueful honesty,” she said. “You’re still trying to mess with me, aren’t you? I just realized. Oh my God, why?”</p><p>“I thought you were the one charming me, sweetheart?” he said, dodging her question with a smirk. It was sexy.</p><p>“Help me, Jesus, help me, Oprah,” she muttered, shaking her head, “help me, Tom Cruise!” Rumlow made a funny face, his smooth, pleased expression falling away. He started to laugh.</p><p>“What,” he said slowly, “the hell was that?”</p><p>“It’s bit,” Darcy explained. “Jane and I stole it from a Will Ferrell movie. The NASCAR one?”</p><p>“I’m glad you’re both intellectuals with high class taste,” Rumlow said. Darcy laughed. They were both laughing for a minute.</p><p>“But seriously, why?” Darcy asked. “Do you want more access to Jane’s science?” He looked puzzled and leaned in.</p><p>“It’s not obvious?” he said, in that same low voice. Darcy shook her head.</p><p>“Nope,” she said, scrunching her nose.</p><p>“I like you,” he said, shaking his head. "I want you."</p><p>"Noooooo," Darcy said.</p><p>"Yes," he said, grinning. She blushed. </p><p>“I have a boyfriend,” she scolded. “Ian, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah, I made Rollins take him out of town for the weekend,” he said, grimacing. “Get him out of the way.”</p><p>“You sneak!” Darcy said. “Please tell me that Ian’s okay?”</p><p>“I’m sure they’re taking good care of him,” Rumlow said. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Hello?” Ian yelled. He’d heard a noise in the underbrush. “I’ve--I’ve got a gun!” he yelled. This was lie. He didn’t even have cell reception. He’d been trying to backtrack and call Rollins all day long.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I should probably call him,” Darcy said. “I haven’t called him all day.” Rumlow had talked her into dessert before they left the restaurant. “Ian,” she added, to explain.</p><p>“I’ll try not to read too much into that, sweetheart,” he said, watching as she dialed. He looked a little sly.</p><p>“Ugh,” Darcy said, as her phone went straight to voicemail. “You promise he’s not dead, right?”</p><p>“I didn’t tell anybody to kill him,” Rumlow said, raising his hands in surrender. “Where are you parked?”</p><p>“Over there,” Darcy said, pointing. They walked for a second in silence. She glanced at him.</p><p>“What?” he said. </p><p>“Nothing,” she said. He looked away. She decided to say something anyway. “I had fun tonight, even if you are a sneaky seducer,” she said, laughing. “I really did.”</p><p>“Yeah?” he said. He turned abruptly. “Darcy?”</p><p>“Yes?” she asked.</p><p>“What if we don’t let the night end?”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. All The Blame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh my God,” Darcy breathed out. She looked at Rumlow across his living room. He smirked.</p><p>“Yeah?” he said.</p><p> “You’ve got the good cable.”</p><p>“The good cable?” he asked her. “You don’t?” Rumlow had talked her into coming back to his apartment to watch a movie. Just a movie, she told herself. She watched movies with people all the time. It was perfectly innocent. She couldn’t help worrying that Ian would be upset. She shook off the thought, smiling back when Rumlow looked at her.</p><p>“God, no, Jane still has poverty mindset,” she explained. “She won’t let me waste money on anything more expensive than basic Netflix--standard definition! I’m seething with envy.” He laughed. </p><p>“Watch what you want,” he said. </p><p>“Ooooh, complete freedom,” Darcy said. </p><p>“You want popcorn?” he offered.</p><p>“Yes,” she said. </p><p>“I, uh, think there are apps,” he added.</p><p>“You don’t know?” Darcy said, astonished.</p><p>“My sister signed me up for a few things, but I just watch sports,” he explained.</p><p>“Booooooooo,” Darcy said. “I am appalled. So appalled, sir.” She plopped down on his couch, flicking between services, as he walked into the kitchen. “You eat popcorn?” she called. He’d skipped bread and potatoes at dinner. </p><p>“My sister has kids,” he called back. “I feed them popcorn.” </p><p>“Do you let them have your potatoes, too?” she said, listening to him move around. She’d eaten them.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, turning to face her. “I haven’t met any five year olds who could kill a potato like that, though.” His voice was teasing.</p><p>“That’s my murder specialty,” Darcy joked. “I can destroy all forms of potato, on my own, armed with only a dull spoon.”</p><p> </p><p>He was still laughing at the phrase “a dull spoon” as they watched television. “You like this, huh?” he asked Darcy. She’d picked a documentary about Watergate called <em>Slow Burn.</em></p><p>“Oh my God, yes, I’m obsessed with Martha Mitchell. I was a poli sci major at Culver. I’ve wanted to see this ever since they started airing those ads where she goes, <em>alllllllll the blame right on the White House!” </em>Darcy said, mimicking Mitchell’s drawling Arkansas accent. She realized Rumlow was grinning at her. </p><p>“You’re just a funny little person, aren’t you?” he teased. Darcy crossed her arms and pretended to snatch back the popcorn.</p><p>“I mean, she was practically kidnapped by Nixon!” Darcy added. “How can you not?”</p><p>“In my business, we call that unavoidably detained,” he cracked dryly, reaching for the bowl.</p><p>“I saw that,” she told him.</p><p>“What are you going to do about it?” he said.</p><p>“Blackmail,” Darcy said. He smirked at her.</p><p>“Oh yeah?”</p><p>“I get to watch movies on your dime when I feel like it---or I tell everyone at work you’ve had a carb in this calendar year,” she joked.</p><p>“That’s fine with me,” he said.</p><p>“Damn,” Darcy said. “I thought you were having second thoughts about me hanging around now that you know I like documentaries and true crime.”</p><p>“Nope,” Rumlow said. “No second thoughts.”</p><p>“Have you ever seen a silent movie?” Darcy said, feeling a wicked amount of glee. His face did a funny thing.</p><p>“A what?” Rumlow said.</p><p>“A movie where no one talks,” Darcy said slowly.</p><p>“You’re just fucking with me now, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Mmm-hmmm,” she said. “I can be sneaky, too.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It had gotten dark. Ian had been alone for the entire day. His nerves were shredded. He didn’t have a cell phone signal. The woods were full of strange noises. It was so dark, Ian thought. The night sky was velvety with darkness. So strange to be somewhere without lights and buildings and other people. Before he would’ve found it restful. Now it felt like the wild was closing in on him. Paranoid thoughts had begun to intrude on him, now that he had no one to talk to and feared he’d run out of water soon. “Bloody hell,” Ian said. He’d begun talking to himself, just to see if it provoked movement in the bushes. He felt as if he was being watched. Were there mountain lions in this part of Virginia? Wolves? There were definitely coyotes. THe STRIKE guys had warned him. And then left him behind, he thought grimly. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his flashlight. The batteries seemed to be dimming. He was so busy shaking the flashlight that he lost his footing and tumbled down with a surprised shriek. He rolled down the hill, slapped and stung by branches. “Bloody hell!” he yelled again, when he stopped rolling. His palms were scratched and bloody, he guessed. It was difficult to tell when your flashlight had totally gone out. In frustration and anger, he beat the flashlight into the ground, swearing loudly.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Should we go get ‘im?” Callahan asked in a dry voice. They were watching Boothby from an adjoining hill. He lowered his binoculars and looked at the men sitting comfortably behind him. They’d stopped and made camp when Boothby stopped for awhile. </p><p>“He needs to slow the fuck down,” Smith said.</p><p>“Wearing himself out,” Lee said, munching on a protein bar. “Waste of energy.”</p><p>“Let him,” Evans said, more darkly. He was still pissed about the littering.</p><p>“You’re cruel, mate,” Rollins said. Boothby’s voice carried up to them.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds different from a distance like that,” Lee mused.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy woke up on Rumlow’s couch. She’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. He’d covered her with a blanket, she realized, moving slightly to look at him next to her. Rumlow’s head was dropped back against couch cushions, hair wild, mouth open. He was snoring slightly. It was kinda cute. Which was a thought she definitely shouldn’t be having. Especially with a guy so charming that he could talk her into watching--and heckling--an action movie after the Watergate documentary. That was...dangerous. </p><p>Darcy wiggled out from under the blanket carefully and put on her shoes. Looking at her dress, she grimaced. This definitely looked like a walk of shame outfit, even if they hadn’t shared anything more physical than a bowl of popcorn and sarcastic commentary. Anyway, the whole idea of ‘walks of shame’ was stupid. She could talk about that with Jane, she thought. Jane would understand what she meant. Rumlow snored wheezily and drew her attention again. He looked relaxed. No reason to wake him. She would leave him a note, thank him for the nice time, and go get her car. She was looking for a Post-It in her bag when he spoke, startling her. “Hey,” Rumlow said. “Did you just jump?” His voice was wry.</p><p>“I thought you were asleep!” Darcy said. “I was startled!”</p><p>“Sorry,” he said, sitting up. He shook himself and rubbed his hair. Darcy grinned. It was sticking up all over the place, like a porcupine. “What?” he said, grinning back.</p><p>“Your hair is kinda,” she said, miming patting it down.</p><p>“It has a mind of its own,” he said. “You want coffee and breakfast?”</p><p>“Ummm,” Darcy said, deeply tempted to spend more time with him. “I really need to go.”</p><p>“You’re a terrible liar,” Rumlow said dryly. </p><p>“I am not!” she shot back. “I have...plans!”</p><p>“You have zero plans, you’re just having a morning after moment,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Which is crazy, because we didn’t have sex. I knew you were guilt-prone.”</p><p>“I am--” Darcy began, intending to deny it, “okay, yes, sure. I feel weirdly guilty.”</p><p>“You like me,” he said, looking impossibly smug.</p><p>“I’m leaving,” she sassed him, feeling strangely provoked.</p><p>
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</p><p>Jane called as Darcy was leaving his building. “You slept with him?” she said in Darcy’s ear.</p><p>“I fell asleep on his couch!” Darcy said. “Totally different thing. It’s not cheating.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Jane said. “But you’re emotionally involved, right?”</p><p>“I mean, maybe? I don’t know,” Darcy said, walking along the sidewalk. She stopped. “Oh shit,” she said, horrified. “Oh no, oh shit--”</p><p>“What is it?” Jane said.</p><p>“I’ve been towed. My car is gone. Oh no,” Darcy said. She hung up with a sympathetic Jane, then googled the numbers for public towing. She was trying to get a person to answer and verify the location of her car when her call waiting beeped. That must be Jane. Darcy flipped over without looking. “I’m trying to get ahold of the towing people,” she said. “But no one’s answering.”</p><p>“The towing people?” Rumlow said. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“My car was towed last night. Or this morning,” she said, pulling herself together after a pause. "I'm not sure."</p><p>“Shit,” he said. “Let me pick you up? I might know a guy. Where are you?”</p><p>“On the sidewalk, like all sad, carless Americans,” Darcy said archly. He laughed. </p><p>“Okay, stay there with your sense of humor,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>He picked her up and drove her over to where they impounded cars. “Let me handle this,” Rumlow said, getting out before she did.</p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said, following him. “Thank you,” she added, as they approached the little booth where an employee was. </p><p>“You’re welcome,” Rumlow said. Ten minutes and one flashed SHIELD badge later, her car was free and she didn’t even need to go to court.</p><p>“I really appreciate this,” Darcy said. He’d totally gotten her out of a ticket, somehow. It was sneaky--but helpful, too. She shared the car with Jane. Jane who would be horrified by a two-hundred dollar parking ticket and impound fees. </p><p>“Why don’t you, uh, have that breakfast with me now?” he offered, leaning against his own car. </p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. “I’ll follow you. I don’t think it’s safe for me to leave my car places anymore.” That made him laugh.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ian woke up on the ground, something looming over him. “Ahhhhh!” he screamed. The person stared as if he was crazy. </p><p>“Geht es dir gut?” the woman said. Then she spoke more slowly. “Are you okay?” she repeated. That was when Ian got his bearings, realized she was in hiking gear.</p><p>“Oh God,” Ian said, clutching his chest. It was just a German tourist. “Oh thank God.”</p><p>“I help you,” she said. “Not trail.” She gestured to the bushes around him. “You are lost. Lost.”</p><p>“Yes,” Ian said. “Do you have a phone?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Mmmm,” Darcy said, then almost coughed when she caught Rumlow’s wry look. “Sorry,” she said. “I really love waffles.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” he said, grinning. He'd taken her to a diner. She loved diners.</p><p>“I think it’s tragic that you don’t eat them,” Darcy said. “Really, truly sad.”</p><p>“Sure,” he said, smirking. “I’m a very sad man. Why don’t you spend the day with me?”</p><p>“That would help you be less sad, huh?” Darcy said. </p><p>“We can drop your car off at your apartment, you can change clothes, we’ll do something fun,” he told her.</p><p>“Fun?” Darcy said. </p><p>“You remember fun,” he said. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Slow Burn trailer featuring Martha Mitchell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhkOyyAZTwI</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. They Don't Just Happen, You Build Them</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ian was following the tourist--her name was Inga--down the trail when Rollins answered the phone. “Mate, we been lookin’ for ya,” Rollins said calmly.</p><p>“I was--I was a tiny bit lost,” Ian said, endeavoring to sound calm. “Nothing wrong now, though. Back on the trail.”</p><p>“Right as rain?” Rollins said.</p><p>“Right as rain,” he repeated. Inga peered back at him curiously.</p><p>“Where can we meet ya?” Rollins asked. Ian heard voices in the background. The sounds of men laughing. He hoped, eagerly, that they weren’t laughing at him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You like me,” Rumlow said. Darcy pulled her eyes away from the painting of a ballerina and looked at him. He was heavily wooing her, apparently: he’d taken her to the National Gallery of Art. He’d googled things to do as she ate her waffle. There was a Degas exhibit. She grinned.</p><p>“You like me,” she corrected. “You’re the one pretending to like art museums.” He smirked. </p><p>“They’re free,” he said. “Makes it easier. Also,”--he moved behind her, putting his arms on her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin-- “I might want to impress you with my sophistication and culture and my love of comfortable indoor hobbies.” Darcy started to laugh, then muffled it in his arm as the other patrons looked at them. </p><p>“Did I complain too much about hiking and picnics when you kept loading on the wine last night?” she said in a whisper. He’d asked her about shared hobbies between she and Ian and she’d possibly complained a little that she hated the outdoors, unlike Ian, who was constantly dragging her outside. </p><p>“Loading on the wine?” he said.</p><p>“You were doing that, I remember that distinctly,” she said. “And I might’ve said I liked bookstores and museums and Sephora.”</p><p>“I did like that story about Ian’s kayak floating away.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “He always gets in these situations and then I get eaten up by mosquitos or half-frozen while he yells at a kayak.”</p><p>“There is an alternative,” Rumlow said quietly. Darcy tilted her chin up to look at him. He was looking ahead, at the painting. She studied the way his stubble grew irregularly around his scars.</p><p>“Yeah?” she said. </p><p>“You could leave him,” he said. Darcy sighed.</p><p>“We work together and we live together,” she said. “It would be messy. Besides, we’ve been together for six years.” She emphasized the last words.</p><p>“What’s that mean?” Rumlow said. </p><p>“It’s hard to explain,” Darcy said, ducking out from under his arms. She thought maybe she’d gotten too cozy with him. But he didn’t press her. They wandered around the museum’s West Building. The National Gallery was a sprawling, multi-building complex. They were in the more traditional part. The West Building was from the 1930s, she overheard a guide say, designed in the neoclassical style by the same architecture who’d done the National Archives and the Jefferson Memorial. It was all marble and gilt, elegant neoclassical sculptures and hazy soft landscapes. There were even several rooms devoted to collections of noteworthy antiques. She watched as Rumlow circled some eighteenth-century furniture.</p><p>“Dining table?” he said, clearly amused by the way that the table was displayed in the center of the room.</p><p>“Shhh, don’t mock the decorative arts,” she said. “That’s a really old dining table.”</p><p>“What if you moved in with me?” he said.</p><p>“What?” Darcy said.</p><p>“Furniture, moving, moving in,” he said, gesturing, as if that made sense. Darcy gaped at him. He rubbed his jaw and looked at her. “Why don’t we live together? Solves your ex-boyfriend roommate issue,” he added. “Then you’ve just got to deal with it at work--”</p><p>“We don’t know each other,” Darcy said.</p><p>“Get to know me,” he said warmly.  “You’d like me. You already do.”</p><p>“Rumlow,” she said, as tourists wandered around them. He looked at her softly.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“There he is,” Callahan said. “Woman with ‘im.” That caught Jack’s attention. He looked at the woman standing next to Ian. Long brown hair in a bun, pale skin, glasses. Wide eyes. She was staring at them placidly. Ian was busy shoving a protein bar in his mouth. It was just dumb luck that the woman had found him, Jack thought.</p><p>“Hey,” Ian called, waving at them. He accidentally spit peanut. It landed on the ground. Jack thought the woman’s mouth curved in a tiny smile. There was something oddly familiar about it. He was thinking about it as the other men responded to Ian.</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>“Hey, brother.”</p><p>“We lost you, asshole! Where’d you go?” </p><p>“G’day,” Jack told the woman.</p><p>“Good morning,” she said, voice husky. Jack still couldn’t place her. They crowded around, listening to Ian tell a very revised version of his night. Jack could tell Callahan was trying not to laugh in Ian’s face. </p><p>“Anyhow,” Ian said, “I made camp for the night, then met Inga in the morning.”</p><p>“Lucky break,” Evans said.</p><p> </p><p>They were talking when Inga bent to get something out of her bag. Her shirt rode up--and Jack had to restrain himself from swearing when he saw the scar on her stomach. The nerve! He grinned. When she stepped away from the group, he took a step closer to her. His German was rusty, but passable. “Romanoff, what are you doing here?” he said in a low voice. Even up close, her photostatic veil was remarkable. </p><p>“I was checking in on him. Jane called,” she replied, in the same language. “I found him asleep in a ditch.”</p><p>“Lost him,” Jack said dryly, switching to English.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Natasha said. “Can I help?” Even he could hear the glee in her voice. Jack nodded. “How’d you know?” she asked.</p><p>“The scar from Barnes,” he said wryly.</p><p>“Damn,” she said. “I forgot.” Jack turned back to the group, grinning.</p><p>“Inga’s gonna come along with us blokes,” he announced. They had one day of hiking left before they returned to work.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Rumlow took her to the art museum’s coffee and gelato bar to talk. They had to take a moving concourse between the West and East buildings to get to the cafe. “This is beautiful,” she said, as they entered the underground walkway. They were moving into the modernist part of the museum complex. The walls and ceiling of the concourse were covered in lights and long strips of silver material that glinted. At the end of the tunnel, she could see light and sunshine. It made what was basically a dark tunnel feel beautiful and strange. </p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “No idea this was here.” He leaned back against the handrail as the walkway moved.</p><p>“No,” she said. “Me neither. Like the world’s swankiest airport.” That made him laugh. Still, Darcy could tell he was edgy. She watched him order for them. He couldn’t see her; she was sitting so his back was turned. Rumlow was drumming his fingers on the countertop. She looked away when he walked over, items tucked in his elbows. “Thank you,” she said, taking her gelato politely. “I can give you money--”</p><p>“No, no,” he said. They sat for awhile in silence. Darcy caught herself sighing again.</p><p>“So, you don’t want to leave him?” Rumlow said, clearly baffled.  Darcy stuck her spoon into the caramel gelato and swirled it around.</p><p>“We’ve been together for six years,” she repeated. “We’re going through a rough patch now--”</p><p>“He’s not good to you,” he said, leaning forward intently. Darcy let her eyes linger on Rumlow’s scarred fingers, gently holding a cup of espresso.</p><p>“You don’t just quit because things aren’t easy right now,” Darcy said. “Or cheat.”</p><p>“I’m not asking you to cheat,” he said, shifting in a way that suggested he was uncomfortable. Was that a guilty tell, she wondered?</p><p>“Just to leave him and move in with you,” Darcy said, “which sounds entirely too good to be true.” When he grinned, she shook her head. “That’s a nice way of me saying I’m afraid you’d throw me out in three months once you got bored and I will have torpedo’d my longest relationship for nothing and wouldn’t have a place to live. Ian and I are practically married and I barely know you.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t throw you out,” he said. He looked serious. It was difficult to hold eye contact. Darcy looked away. “What?” he said. She gestured in frustration and looked back at him, willed him to understand.</p><p>“Besides, everyone says relationships go through these periods, but if you’re patient and you work at it, you’re happier when you’re older,” she said. “Happy relationships don’t just happen, you build them.”</p><p>“Is that what you think you’re doing?” he asked. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The National Gallery's Degas exhibit looks so cool: https://www.instagram.com/ngadc/?hl=en.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. That English Guy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes,” Darcy said. “That’s what I’m trying to do, yes.” </p><p>“Working on the relationship?” he repeated.</p><p>“Yes,” she said, sighing. Rumlow frowned, drew back in his chair, and gazed over her shoulder at some ambiguous point in the distance. People moved around them in the cafe, laughing and talking. They looked happy. Darcy yearned to be happy like that. He was still looking away. She waited nervously. For a moment, Darcy was afraid he would get angry with her. But his voice was quiet--almost tentative--when he spoke.</p><p>“What if you set a time limit?” he said carefully.</p><p>“A time limit?” she said, not understanding.</p><p>“Three months?” he said, rubbing his jaw. “You give him three more months to see if he treats you better and we’ll talk. I’ll wait. And then you’ll know that I’m not gonna get bored, sweetheart.”</p><p>“You just want to wait around like this is <em> An Affair To Remember?” </em>Darcy said, feeling incredulous.</p><p>“Like what?” Rumlow said.</p><p>“It’s an old movie,” she explained. “Well, more than one. Cary Grant’s in the original, Warren Beatty remade it. Two people who are already seriously dating other people fall in love and then they agree to revamp their lives and meet at the Empire State building in six months if they still want each other?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said, expression serious. “Three months?”</p><p>“That’s a crazy plan,” she told him. “You’ll be totally over this, you know that?”</p><p>“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You done with your gelato?” </p><p>“Yeah,” she said. He stood up. “What?” Darcy said.</p><p>“Come with me. We’ll do the East Building and then something else.”</p><p>“Something else?” Darcy said.</p><p>“I promise I’ll behave,” he said, a glint in his eye. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ian had to hustle to keep up with the group. Inga was setting the pace. “Hold on,” Evans said, halting them on a downward slope through the trees. “We found parts of your pack, pal,” he told Ian, un-shouldering a bag. “When we were looking for you.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Ian said, feeling himself sweat under Evans’ gaze, “I lost it in the dark.” Evans hoisted over the bag and it hit Ian’s chest with a thump, making him sway as he tried to maintain his balance. Things were going downhill, Ian realized, as he struggled to put the bag over his shoulder. “Thank you,” he added.</p><p>“No problem,” Evans said. They trekked on. Ian found himself breathing heavily, unable to participate in the conversation. At the front of the group, Inga seemed to move casually, as if she exerted no effort at all. Suffering, Ian began to thought spiral. Why had he come on this stupid trip? His feet ached. He felt keenly his own weakness and ineptitude. He realized he was bitterly jealous of them all: the petite Inga and her rounded, soft limbs mysteriously powering ahead, Rollins, laughing at a joke he hadn’t caught, even Evans, who kept stopping to take pictures of bloody trees. Fucking trees getting to stand still, Ian thought seethingly. </p><p> </p><p>He realized that he missed trips like this with Darcy: she was no competition at all.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy liked modern art. Brock took lots of pictures of her next to abstract sculptures, paintings, and even an interesting wall staircase. They sat in the Rothko room. She thought it was like a jewel box. “Look at how they glow,” Darcy said. “There’s a chapel he did down in Texas where you supposedly can sit and watch the canvases change with the light all day long.”</p><p>“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.</p><p>“That one,” Darcy said, pointing to <em> Untitled 1953 </em>, a painting with a fuchsia color block that segued into black and ended with a thin stripe of orange.</p><p>“Why?” he said. </p><p>“There’s something about the way the fuchsia looks so much like a sunset over dark water,” she said. He studied the painting and then cut his eyes at her. “They’re so beautiful,” she said. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. They sat until she brought up his something else. “What are you planning?” she asked. She was wildly curious by now. It turned out to be a trip to the museum’s shop. </p><p>“I’m buying you something,” he announced, when she asked what he was looking for.</p><p>“What? Why?” Darcy said.</p><p>“So one day you’ll have something to remember this trip by, sweetheart,” he said, scanning the shop. </p><p>“You want me to have a souvenir?” Darcy said. </p><p>“It doesn’t have to be anything expensive or romantic,” he said, clearly anticipating her next objection. “Shit, yeah, the Rothko.” He stopped a sales person and asked if they had a poster of the one she liked. They did. Two sizes. “You want the bigger one?” he said, almost flirtatiously.</p><p>“Stop that,” Darcy said. “But yes.” He grinned at her. </p><p>“You like me,” Rumlow said. “You’re going to like me in three months.”</p><p>“I’m paying you back for this,” she told him. </p><p>“No, you’re not,” he said. “I’m not taking your money.” That flummoxed her for a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“I will get Nat to put thirty bucks in your wallet,” Darcy said, as they walked around the West Building a last time. He’d been flirting like crazy since they left the shop. She was carrying the poster in a bag. “A reverse pickpocket.” </p><p>“That’s cute, honey,” he said. “Come on, let’s take some pictures in front of the swanky fountain.”</p><p>“I could blackmail you with these,” she said. “With your STRIKE guys. They’d probably help me.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Squeeze in close. Get in next to me. God, you’re pretty,” he said. </p><p>“Shut up,” she said. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“We’re going to cross here,” Evans called to Boothby. He’d lagged behind the group, struggling with the weight of his gear. “Come down this way. It’s safer,” he yelled up, waving. The trail was near a creek that had flooded with spring rains, washing away a section. Boothby was looking like he wanted to jump over the washed out section of trail. Evans had an instinct about things sometimes. The look on a person’s face when they were about to make a bad call. He’d seen it before. “Hey!” Evans yelled. “Boothby!” He made to scramble back up the incline, but he was a fraction too late. </p><p> </p><p>Boothby lept. It was a wobbly leap. His pack was too heavy to clear the gap. Evans saw his ankle roll as he landed. There was a high-pitched, keening shriek. “Shit,” Evans said out loud.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” Callahan said from somewhere behind him, as Boothby started to swear and gibber in pain. Evans got to him first. He was muddy.</p><p>“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Evans said, lifting him and supporting his weight. Lee took Boothby’s other arm.</p><p>“I think I broke--I broke my ankle,” Boothby said. “Oh God.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Brock dropped her off at her apartment. “I guess you’re not gonna kiss me, huh?” he said.</p><p>“Nope,” Darcy said, rolling the poster tube between her hands. “I live with someone, remember? That English guy?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.” He looked at her. “That guy.”</p><p>“That guy,” she said. Darcy sighed.</p><p>“I hate that guy,” he said.</p><p>“Then you shouldn’t live with him,” she said. He started to laugh.</p><p>“That’s good, sweetheart.” He rubbed his jaw, then looked at her. “I thought it was a pretty good first date weekend,” Rumlow said. </p><p>“Oh, is that what you think you’re doing?” she said archly, remembering his earlier skeptical line. “Going on a first date?”</p><p>“Did you just sarcasm me?” he said. </p><p>“It explains the poster,” she said. "You think this was our first date."</p><p>“You want me to hang it for you? I could do that. Is this going in your bedroom?” he said, smirking. </p><p>“Yes, it’s going in my room,” she said. She opened the car door. “But I can hang it myself. I’m guessing you’ll have forgotten all about this conversation, three months from now.”</p><p>“Bullshit. You’re not going to forget about me, either,” he said, as she shut the car door.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rothko's Untitled 1953 is on the left side of this image: https://www.flickr.com/photos/mbell1975/31204079206</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Man-Sprain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was going to work on the relationship, Darcy promised herself. Really try. She explained everything to Jane via telephone that night. “Anyway, he wants to me to set a time limit of three more months with Ian,” Darcy said. </p><p>“Why are you whispering?” Jane asked. “Is Ian there?”</p><p>“No, he’s not home yet. He’s still hiking. It just feels like a secret,” Darcy said. “A secret plan.” She looked at the wall. “He bought me a Rothko print.” She’d hung the poster in her room.</p><p>“You like him!” Jane said. “Just dump Ian.”</p><p>“And how are we all going to live together, missy?” Darcy asked Jane. The three of them--and Thor, part-time between here and Asgard--shared the three bedroom apartment.</p><p>“Shit,” Jane said. “I hadn’t thought about that.”</p><p>“Rumlow offered to let me move in with him.”</p><p>“What?!” Jane said.</p><p>“Is that crazy? I thought it sounded crazy--” Darcy mused out loud.</p><p>“Did you have sex with him? You can tell me,” Jane said. </p><p>“I did not,” Darcy said. She made her voice sarcastic. “Excuse me, I’m a lady. Also, I’m a little terrified that if I did have sex with him, I wouldn’t be able to quit, he’s soo--” she paused. There was beeping on the line.</p><p>“Hot? He’s still hot, even with the scars,” Jane said.</p><p>“Hold on, someone’s trying to call me,” Darcy said. “From the hospital. I’ll call you back, Jane.” She switched over. “Hello?”</p><p>“Darcy?” Jack Rollins’ voice said.</p><p>“Jack! Is everything okay?” Darcy said. </p><p>“‘Fraid not, darl. Ian’s sprained his ankle,” he said. </p><p>“Shit,” Darcy said.</p><p>“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him carry that pack--” Rollins said rapidly. </p><p>“As long as Brock didn’t put you up to it,” Darcy said.</p><p>“No,” Jack said. “He did not do that, I swear. I promise you. This was an accident.”  He sounded sincere, she thought. And Ian did tend to overdo it at the best of times, without an audience of macho dudes. Sighing, Darcy realized he’d probably sprained it trying to show off. Which would make him more difficult, if he was embarrassed.</p><p>“I’ll be right there,” Darcy said. “Which floor?”</p><p>“Fourth,” Rollins said. “We’re all here. He didn’t want to go to a local hospital in Virginia, but Smith finally talked him into it when we got back into town.”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. On the drive over, it occurred to her that Brock would probably chose a more lethal method of dealing with Ian than sprained ankles. But probably not. He wouldn’t really do that. She was fairly sure.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The group was tensely arrayed around Ian’s curtained hospital cubicle when Darcy arrived. “Hi,” she said. Several sheepish-looking faces turned to greet her. “How’s the patient?” she asked. They moved aside, so she could see where Ian was sitting up in bed. “You’re sunburned,” Darcy said, feeling a wave of sympathy at seeing him. He was pink and tired-looking.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he said stiffly, exactly like a child embarrassed by his mother. </p><p>“I brought clothes,” she said, eyeing his hospital gown. “Do I get to take you home?”</p><p>“No need to be so bloody chipper,” Ian said. He was clearly in a surly mood. The guys left the curtained cubicle so she could help him get dressed. When he limped out, rejecting her offer of an arm, the group turned to look at them. Rumlow was standing next to Jack, frowning. Darcy froze for a second, surprised that he'd arrived, but Ian didn’t notice.</p><p>“I’m really sorry about this,” Rumlow announced, clearly in serious commander mode. “It shouldn’t have happened.” He made direct eye contact with her. Ian moved over to speak to the guys, evidently joking about keeping up with them. He was trying to play like he was okay. Male ego, Darcy realized. She walked towards Rumlow. He was grimacing. He leaned towards Darcy, whispering, “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with this.”</p><p>“I know,” she whispered. “But I need to take him home.”</p><p>“You want help?” Rumlow said. She shook her head.</p><p>“No,” she said. “I think you’ve done enough.” She was half-teasing. The corners of his mouth turned up. She followed Ian into the elevator. As the doors closed, Brock gave her a long, intense look.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“My ankle’s swollen,” Ian complained, for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Darcy glanced over at him. He had his foot on the floor, against recommendations. They’d sent him home from the hospital with a sheet of instructions and prescription Tylenol. It was a relatively minor sprain, as it turned out.</p><p>“You need to elevate it,” Jane said. “That’s what the doctor said.” Darcy mouthed thanks at Jane; she’d given up on talking sense to him over the last seventy-two hours. He was stubbornly doing too much this week, refusing to ice or elevate, and generally grouchy from pain. Behind his back, Jane had started jokingly calling it his “man-sprain,” the way some people joked about men’s colds as “man flu.” Ian was being a smidge dramatic, but Darcy was trying to be nice. The phone rang at her elbow. </p><p>“Hello?” Darcy said, answering her work line. “Jane Foster’s lab.”</p><p>“You didn’t tell me the woman gets hit by a car,” Rumlow said abruptly. His voice was low and warm in her ear. Darcy quashed the pleasure she felt at hearing from him and tilted the phone closer. “I been crying like a damn baby for two days now. Everybody on the whole fucking team’s laughing at me,” he told her.</p><p>“Really? I forgot about that part of the movie,” she admitted, trying not to laugh. She could almost hear his smile. He sounded more playful than pissed off. “I’m very sorry,” Darcy said archly. Across the lab, Jane looked up. Darcy grinned at her. Jane nodded, smirking; she must realize who it was, Darcy thought. Was she so transparent? Damn.</p><p>“Promise me you’ll be careful, all right?” he said. </p><p>“Uh-huh,” she said. “You know it’s more likely to be you than me, right? Statistically.”</p><p>“Lies, damned lies, and statistics,” he told her. “How’s your boy?” </p><p>“Fine,” Darcy said, determined not to badmouth Ian to Brock. She couldn't leave an injured person, either. You couldn't just leave someone in this circumstance. “Everything is fine.” She caught Jane trying not to laugh and made a face.</p><p>“Be safe for me,” he told her.</p><p>"Sure," she said. "I'll look both ways before I cross the street." The woman in the movie had been too excited to get to the Empire State building, Darcy thought. She was calm. Wasn't she?</p><p>"That is not funny," he grumbled.</p><p>"I can't guarantee I won't fall in traffic, that seems like a me thing," she said lightly.</p><p>"Stop that," he complained. Across the lab, Jane started to giggle.</p><p>"What's funny?" Ian said. "What did I miss?"</p><p>"Nothing," Jane said. Darcy pretended not to hear.</p><p>"Uh-huh," she said into the phone.</p><p>"You wanna have lunch with me?" Rumlow said, shifting gears.</p><p> “I think we’re all having lunch in the cafeteria today,” Darcy said calmly. “Ian’s ankle and all.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy didn’t think he’d actually sit with them, but he’d brought the STRIKE guys, too, when they got to the cafeteria. “I’ll get that for you,” Rumlow said, taking Ian’s tray. “We’re at Table 5.” Ian stammered out a thank you. Rumlow fell in next to Darcy and Jane. “He giving you any trouble?” he asked, as they walked to the cafeteria line.</p><p>“Yes,” Jane said.</p><p>“No,” Darcy said.</p><p>“Interesting,” Rumlow said wryly. They stood in a cluster.</p><p>“Don’t you feel any guilt?” Darcy asked him in low voice. “Pretending to do him a favor, just to get close to me?” At her question, Jane scoffed. Audibly. Darcy glared at her. </p><p>“Nah,” he said. “Jane, should I feel more guilty?”</p><p>“No,” Jane said. “He’s been so whiny. It’s just a sprain, but you’d think half his foot came off. Darcy’s been waiting on him like crazy. I’m Team Rumlow, by the way.” Her tone was so cranky, Rumlow started to laugh.</p><p>“Jane!” Darcy objected.</p><p>“What? It’s not like Ian hasn’t been asking you to bring him stuff every five minutes,” she said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Darcy said, sighing. “Otherwise, he tries to do things himself and hurts worse. She’s calling it his mansprain, like man flu is just a cold,” Darcy added. “But I’m supposed to be working on things with him,” she reminded him. “I’m taking a course.”</p><p>“A course?” he said.</p><p>“An online e-course in intimacy and things like that,” Darcy said. “Life goals. I got it half price because May second is Global Love Day.”</p><p>“What do you do?” he said as they shifted forward.</p><p>“Be overcharged by yoga teachers with no real credentials,” Jane said drily.</p><p>“She’s a skeptic because she values academic credentials too much,” Darcy said, “but I journal about my relationship priorities and stuff. Answering questions.”</p><p>“Like what?” he said. His expression was interested, not judgy.</p><p>“What would a relationship where I felt unconditionally loved look like?” Darcy asked. “What would that person do for me?”</p><p>“Huh,” he said. “That’s a question.”</p><p>“I know, right?” Darcy said. “It helps clarify priorities, though. I think? I’m just noodling at this point. Next week’s journal prompt is worse--what would I do to help maintain and fulfill the relationship?” She paused, thinking about it. It seemed like a tough question. What did she have to offer? They were approaching the food. “Ian likes that one--” Darcy said. “But I’ll call him, just to make sure that’s what he wants.” She could feel Rumlow’s eyes on her as she got Ian on the phone across the room and told him all his options.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 16 Questions That Can Revive Your Relationship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darcy was sprawled on the bed, doodling ideas in her relationship journal. She’d just read one of her assigned readings-- “16 Questions That Can Revive Your Relationship”--and was wondering what Ian would think of it. He was in the living room, watching television. “Darcy!” he yelled suddenly. She crawled off the bed and walked down the hall.</p><p>“Hey, you need something?” she said. Jane and Thor were out on a date night. They went out every Friday. Darcy had tried to get Ian to do date nights with her, too, but he’d claimed to be too tired at the end of the week.</p><p>“I’ve been calling you for five minutes,” he complained.</p><p>“Why didn’t you text me? I was doing classwork,” she said. She’d told him about her class, but he’d seemed disinterested.</p><p>“I need another beer,” he said. </p><p>“Okay,” she said, resisting the urge to tell him he might be drinking too much; instead, she gathered the two empty bottles off the coffee table and tossed them into the trash. “Hey, would you like to go to that restaurant where we had our first date when we’re back in London?” she asked. Revisiting your first date location was one of her relationship-strengthening suggestions from the article.</p><p>“When are we going to be in London?” he said, as she handed him the beer.</p><p>“I dunno, it was just a thought, whenever Jane goes,” Darcy said. “Or, do you remember that concert we went to? Lila Downs? We could listen to that album of hers--”</p><p>“I’m watching the game,” Ian said, giving her his patented ‘why are you talking during my show?’ face. He didn’t like it when she talked while he tried to watch things. </p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said, sighing. She decided to go back to her room---she hated having to be quiet--but stopped in the hall threshold. “We could bake bread tomorrow. You promised to teach me how.” Back when they’d first gotten together, Darcy had confessed that she was good at cupcakes and cakes, but bread dough and yeast and kneading were intimidating. Ian had confidently assured her that he could teach her how.</p><p>“Sure,” he said, eyes on the TV. </p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. </p><p> </p><p>She dozed off surrounded by printed-out articles, an easy bread recipe, and her journal. He was still watching TV.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy had all her ingredients out in the kitchen and a Lila Downs CD playing on a tiny speaker when Jane came in on Saturday afternoon. Ian was sleeping late. “What are you making?” Jane said.</p><p>“Bread,” Darcy said. “Ian promised to help me--hey, sleepyhead!” she said, as he wandered into the kitchen, yawning. “You ready to make bread?”</p><p>“What?” he said.</p><p>“We’re making bread today, remember?” Darcy said, smiling. He huffed.</p><p>“Bloody hell, Darce, I barely slept and you’re springing bread on me?” he said. His voice was sharp and scolding.</p><p>“There’s no reason to talk to her like that,” Jane said, glaring at him.</p><p>“I haven’t even had coffee yet,” Ian said. “And both of you are ganging up on me.” He set down a mug with a thump. “We can’t even have a bloody normal argument without Jane taking your side,” Ian said bitterly.</p><p>“Taking her side?” Jane said, sharpening her own tone. </p><p>“That is exactly what I mean,” Ian said. “The constant carping and criticism at home and work, I can’t even sleep because you leave your damn articles strung all over the bed!”</p><p>“I’m working on our relationship!” she said.</p><p>“Oh, don’t pretend you’re doing this for me, this is just another of your little fixations--”</p><p>“Oh my God, you’re being such an asshole,” Jane said, crossing her arms.</p><p>“This--this is exactly the shit I mean,” Ian said. “I can’t win in this house!”</p><p>“Oh, bullshit, she just asked you to bake, not give her a kidney,” Jane said.</p><p>“Well, have at it,” Ian said. “I’m leaving.” She heard the door slam behind him and looked at Jane.</p><p>“I just wanted to make bread,” Darcy said. “God, why is my life like this?” She looked at the kitchen. She’d committed herself to making five pans of focaccia alone.</p><p>“I’d help, but you know I burn things,” Jane said in a sad voice.</p><p>“Yeah,” Darcy said.</p><p>“I’ve got an idea,” Jane said, grinning. She picked up Darcy’s phone. “Someone will make bread with you, if he’s in town--”</p><p>“Jane,” Darcy said.</p><p>“If Ian sees that someone else will step in, maybe he’ll step up,” Jane said, looking canny.</p><p>“He doesn’t even eat carbs,” Darcy said. "He doesn't want to make bread on a Saturday."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So,” Rumlow said when Jane let him in. He’d appeared at the corner of the kitchen while Darcy was measuring out flour. “Jane and Thor are going to the park and we’re making bread?” he said. She heard the door shut.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Darcy said. She gestured to her apron.  “Ian and I had this fight and he left and Jane burns things, I’m sure this isn’t your idea of a good time--”</p><p>“Darcy,” he said in a warm voice, putting his arms around her waist. “Anything you want to do sounds fun to me, sweetheart.” </p><p>“Brock,” she said, enjoying his touch, “this is not how you make bread.”</p><p>“Really?” he said lightly. “I don’t eat carbs, you’re gonna have to show me.” His voice was playful. His thumbs pressed against her skin.</p><p>“This is no-knead bread,” Darcy said, trying to repress a giggle. “And I need to oil these pans.”</p><p>“Mmm-hmmm,” he said. “So, you don’t want me to kiss you?”</p><p>“Not a part of the three month plan,” Darcy said, repressing her own desire to lean against him and let him touch her.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “What’s this?” He plucked her “16 Questions” article off the fridge. She’d put it up, planning to talk about it with Ian.  He read aloud: “When did you know this relationship could be something special?”</p><p>“That’s one of my articles from the course,” Darcy said. He looked at it, looked at her, and back at the list. “I was, uh, planning to do that with Ian.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Rumlow said.</p><p>“Yup,” Darcy said, trying to relax the tension she felt suddenly. “But he didn’t want to do bread. So, no list.”</p><p>“His loss. I’m sorry,” he said. </p><p>“S’okay,” she said. Rumlow put the list on the fridge again. </p><p>“Let’s make this bread, huh?” he said. “What kind of bread is it?”</p><p>“Focaccia,” she said.</p><p>“Italian bread,” he said. “Good. I think we can do it.” He sounded confident. </p><p>“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “There are the instructions.” He scanned them critically.</p><p>“That looks simple,” he said. “Mix the stuff, let it rise, bake.”</p><p> </p><p>It should have been simple. “I think this dough is messed up,” Darcy said, poking it with her finger. The texture of the dough seemed too oozy to her. “Maybe I got the yeast too warm. It can do that, you know.”</p><p>“Too warm?” he said.</p><p>“The water has to be the right temperature. If it’s too hot or too cold, it dies. Yeast is alive.”</p><p>“Yeast is alive? Are you fucking with me?” he said. He was making a skeptical face. It was cute, she thought.</p><p>“No. Yeast is alive, I swear,” she said. She held a dough-covered hand like she was a boy scout. </p><p>“Yeah, okay,” he said. He looked at the dough bowl like it was dangerous. “Should we add flour or something?” When she moved in response, he seemed to want to dodge her hand.</p><p>“You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked, laughing. “I swear to God, yeast is alive. Wooooo!” She waved her hand at him. He stepped back neatly.</p><p>“I believe you. It’s just--” he shuddered as he touched the dough on her hand tentatively-- “fucking gross.” His disgusted face was hilarious. </p><p>“Yeah,” Darcy said, bursting into laughter. She laughed so hard that she had to hang onto the counter, doubled over, eyes wet with tears. The dough stuck to the spot where she placed her hand. </p><p>“That’s--this is why I don’t eat bread,” Brock said, grimacing at the smear of sticky dough. “I’m going to get a paper towel.”</p><p>“I--I just realized you’re kind of a neat freak,” Darcy said. She tried to wipe the tears from her face with her forearm.</p><p>“Hey, hey,” he said. “No dough in the eyes.” He cleaned the dough away. “Go wash up,” he said, once her hands were clear of most of the dough. “We’ll check for another recipe, redo this.”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. She went over to the sink. He scraped the dough into the trash with a spatula, carefully not touching it. “Hey, Brock?”</p><p>“Yeah?” he said. She flicked water at him when he looked her way. “Hey,” he said, grinning. “Not the hair! It’s my good feature now.”</p><p>“Nooo,” Darcy said, putting her hands on her hips. “You’ve got lots of good features. You’re still very handsome. Even Jane agrees with me.”</p><p>“That right?” he said in a different voice. He moved over, dropping the bowl on the counter, and looked at her. “You think I’m handsome?”</p><p>“Yeah--yes,” Darcy said. She dropped her eyes somewhere around his neck. “The hair is good--”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “I’m glad I kept the hair, that was lucky.”</p><p>“But,” she said, trying to sound breezy. “You’ve still got pretty eyes and that jawline. Also, good shoulders--”</p><p>“Pretty eyes?”</p><p>“Mmm-hmm,” she said, purposefully not meeting them. “And, uh, you’re very fit.” She gestured. “All this.”</p><p>“This what?”</p><p>“Shoulders, biceps, ridiculously tiny waist for a man,” Darcy stuttered out. “I mean, really, it’s unreal.” She was eyeing him, when she realized he was grinning.</p><p>“So, the physical’s not the problem?” he said.</p><p>“Huh?” she said. </p><p>“It’s not that you don’t think I’m handsome?” he said.</p><p>“I, uh, no---” Darcy was saying, when he leaned over and kissed her lightly. His mouth was warm. She let herself enjoy it, just for a second, before pulling back. “No, no, no,” she said. “That was not in the plan.”</p><p>“Sometimes, I improvise,” he said. </p><p>“Oh God,” Darcy said. “What do we do now?”</p><p>“We could still make bread,” he said.</p><p>“I just cheated on Ian,” she said, putting a hand over her face.</p><p>“Barely,” he said.  “Are you feeling guilty?”</p><p>“No,” she lied.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said. “A little.”</p><p>“Well, come on, guilty girl, we’ll make bread,” he said. “Unless you want to do something with a bed? That sounds like bread, we could pretend we were confused--”</p><p>“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous,” Darcy said, laughing. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They were on their second round of focaccia baking when Darcy heard the door open. “Jane?” she yelled. “Tell Thor we’ve got focaccia and wine chilling!”</p><p>“It’s me,” Ian said, walking into the kitchen. He looked at Brock, evidently startled. Darcy almost dropped her spatula. </p><p>“Hey--” Brock said slowly, as if it was perfectly normal for him to be drinking wine in her kitchen, surrounded by pans of bread.</p><p>“Oh. Hullo,” Ian said. “I didn’t realize you were here.”</p><p>“We were just baking,” Darcy began nervously. “Did you want some? Or wine?”</p><p>“No thanks,” Ian said. “I’m going to have a lie in, all right? My ankle hurts.”</p><p>“I’m very sorry about that,” Brock said in a cool voice.</p><p>“You and me both, eh?” Ian said. “Still, I’ll be back on the trails soon enough.” There was a kind of forced cheerfulness that almost made Darcy wince. </p><p>“That’s good,” Brock said. </p><p>“Yep,” Ian said. He limped off. Darcy looked at Brock.</p><p>“That was...unusual,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not leaving you if he’s pissed.”</p><p>“Let me go check,” Darcy said. She put down her spatula and left the kitchen. She could hear Ian channel surfing before she got to her bedroom door. “Hey,” she said, sticking her head in. “Are you okay?” </p><p>“Hmm?” he said.</p><p>“You’re not upset that he’s here? Rumlow?” she said. “I didn’t want you to think that we were--that anything really happened.” </p><p>“What?” Ian said. He started to laugh. “What would give you that idea?” he got out, between chuckles. “Him and you? That’s a good one, Darce.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Darcy said, feeling oddly like he’d planted a knife in her chest. “Him and me, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian said, “complete mismatch. Can’t imagine it.” He was still laughing a little. “Can you get me a beer?” he asked, flicking the remote compulsively. </p><p>“Sure,” Darcy said flatly. She marched out to the kitchen, pissed.</p><p>“What is it?” Brock asked.</p><p>“He wants a beer,” she said, yanking the fridge open. “Also, the idea of you and me is apparently hilarious. So funny.”</p><p>“You told him about me?” Brock said.</p><p>“No I reassured him that nothing really happened and he laughed,” she spit out bitterly. Darcy clonked the beer on the counter. “In my face! Because who could ever imagine us together!” she added, opening the bottle cap a little viciously as she whispered.</p><p>“Are you mad about this?” Brock asked, grinning. “And he can’t open his own beers?”</p><p>“No,” Darcy said. “He chipped a tooth once. I don’t want to cart him back and forth to the dentist. Watch the focaccia--” she said bluntly, marching out of the kitchen and then realizing her mistake-- “please? I’m sorry, that was rude,” she added.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he said.</p><p>“Are you sure?” she asked, fretting she’d been mean to him. Brock looked at her, smirking slowly. </p><p>“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said. </p><p>“Pffht--” she began.</p><p>“Darcy?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Give him the beer and come home with me,” he said. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>those 16 questions: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/living-the-questions/201303/16-questions-can-revive-your-relationship</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Are You All Right?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I--I, uh, oh God,” Darcy said, staring at Brock. “I want to, I really do. But this is way ahead of time, isn’t it?” she said. The beer bottle felt clammy in her hands. She glanced down the hall, praying that Ian couldn’t overhear.</p><p>“Maybe,” he said. “Yeah.” He tilted his head. “I’m rushing you. Hazard of being a pushy STRIKE asshole, sweetheart.”</p><p>“You’re not an asshole, you’re--you’re wonderful,” Darcy stammered, blushing. “You made bread with me and you don’t even eat bread.”</p><p>“I’m worried about your standards,” he said warmly. </p><p>“Please don’t leave,” Darcy said. “I’m going to deliver this and I’ll be back. Right back.”</p><p>“Not going anywhere,” he said calmly. </p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. She walked carefully to the bedroom, pushing the door open slowly. Ian’s eyes were glued to the screen. “Hey,” she said. “Here’s your beer.”</p><p>“Thanks,” he said, not looking at her. She set it down and got to the door. </p><p>“Ian?” Darcy said, turning.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You want to work on our relationship, right?” she asked him, watching his face carefully. </p><p>“Huh?” he said.</p><p>“You want us to be closer?” she repeated.</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” he said. “It’d be nice if we had sex more, too.”</p><p>“Great,” Darcy said, feeling a well of anger. “I’ll make a list. I’m running an errand.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Ian said, as Darcy shut the door. She marched out to Rumlow.</p><p>“You okay?” he said.</p><p>“Nope,” she said. “Would you, um, like to take some of this bread and go with me someplace?”</p><p>“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he said, smirking. “I’ll put the bread in bag, huh?” She nodded. </p><p>“I’ll get my purse,” Darcy said, taking off her apron. He started packing up food. She went into the bathroom and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was frizzy from the oven heat. Darcy knew not to fight it in the DC humidity. Instead, she spritzed on her favorite cheap perfume, Jovan Island Gardenia, and tucked her lipgloss in her purse. “I’m ready,” she said to Brock. She didn’t bother saying anything to Ian. There was enough focaccia for Thor and Jane.</p><p>“You smell nice,” he said. “Is that new?”</p><p>“New for today,” she said. She was locking the front door when she looked at him. “Abso-fucking-lutely is <em> Rocky, </em>isn’t it?” she said. “When he and Adrian move in together?”</p><p>“Eh,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe.” They got in his car. “Where are we going?” </p><p>“You decide,” she said, buckling her seatbelt.  They threaded through DC traffic. This wasn’t the direction of his apartment, she realized. “So, where are we going?” she asked.</p><p>“Somewhere fun,” Brock said. “Nothing outdoorsy.”</p><p>“Good,” Darcy said. She closed her eyes, enjoying the air conditioning, the sound of the radio, and the way his silences never seemed fraught or tense. “Oh, no,” Darcy said, when she opened them again. “Nooooo.”</p><p>“What?” he said. They’d pulled up in front of a building. A dance studio. “It’s a drop-in class,” Rumlow said. “I read about it online.”</p><p>“I can’t dance,” she said. He looked at her wryly. “No, really, I can’t dance. At all. It’s a running joke. I face-planted during a ball on Asgard--”</p><p>“Really?” he said, chuckling. “You don’t want to try, just for an hour?”</p><p>“Shit,” Darcy said. She looked out the window, then back at him. “Okay, but I’m warning you now. I am full of bread and I will step on your toes.”</p><p>“I got good shoes on,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”</p><p>“Don’t be mad,” she said. He reached over and brushed a bit of hair off the side of her face.</p><p>“Not possible,” he told her. “C’mon, dance with me.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Ah!” Darcy shrieked accidentally, when she lost her balance on the basic step and Brock had to catch her. She’d wobbled dangerously trying to remember if she was supposed to go backwards or forwards. People looked at her. “Shit, God, I’m so bad at this,” she said apologetically. “Brock, I suck.” She was holding his hands tightly. </p><p>“You’re okay, just, uh, loosen your grip a bit,” he said.</p><p>“Sorry,” she said. “I’m hanging onto you like a cat being dangled over a full bathtub.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” he said. He grinned. “Any excuse to get close to you,” he added. “That’s, uh, a creative metaphor, though.”</p><p>“I’m better at talking than dancing,” she said. “Can’t I just lean against you and let you steer me around like a bar cart?” He burst out laughing.</p><p>“A bar cart,” he said. Then he leaned down and kissed her gently. They stopped moving.</p><p>“That’s twice today,” Darcy whispered, tucking her head under his chin and letting out a shaky breath. It had been a good kiss.</p><p>“I get confused, I’m an old man,” he said slyly.</p><p>“If I get to stand still for a second, I’ll let it go,” she said. “But it probably shouldn’t happen again.” </p><p>“Yeah,” he said. He grinned at her. Darcy thought it was lucky that they only had five minutes left of class. She just held onto him and barely moved. “So,” he said, as they left the building, “no dancing?” </p><p>“Nope,” Darcy said. “Are your toes okay?” She peered at his shoes. “Do you need to soak your feet or something? I feel bad.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” he said dryly, pretending that his feet ached. “I’m in such pain. You killed me, baby.” Darcy snorted. But she still felt bad. A tiny bit. </p><p>“We should get you Epsom salts,” she said. “Do you have a foot spa?”</p><p>“Do I have a what?” he said.</p><p>“Stop at the drugstore closest to your place,” Darcy said, in the voice she used whenever she had to convince Jane to eat or sleep. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you’re filling up a foot spa for me,” Brock said, looking down at her as she poured hot water into the basin. “I’m resisting the urge to make so many dirty jokes right now.” Darcy was kneeling on the floor of his living room as he sat on the couch.</p><p>“Ha ha,” she said sardonically. “Your toes actually look a little bruised,” Darcy added, swirling the water around with her hand, so the salts dissolved. She dried her hand on the towels she’d layered on the floor, so his carpet wouldn’t get wet. “I’ll get you some wine,” she told him. </p><p>“This feels very domestic and I’m not complaining,” he called, as she walked into the kitchen. “What are you doing next week?” he asked.</p><p>“Next week?” Darcy said.</p><p>“The Smithsonian does, uh, lectures and things,” he said, as she came back with wine. He had his laptop. “I downloaded the schedule. We could take a class, maybe go to a lecture? They have one coming up about house museums in Paris, sounds like a you thing.”</p><p>“House museums?” Darcy said, peering over at the screen. She read aloud. “<em> The House Museum as a Memory Palace: Discovering the Lesser-known Treasures of Paris? </em> You wouldn’t be bored?” </p><p>“I might be,” he said. “But who knows? It could be fun. I like collecting information.”</p><p>“Collecting information?” Darcy said.</p><p>“Maybe I learn something about art or architecture that’ll help me on a mission, it’s happened before. Everything’s potentially useful,” Brock said.</p><p>“When have you learned something useful?” she wondered. </p><p>“I can’t think of one right now, but I’m sure there was one,” he said smoothly. She thought he was lying to charm her again. Her reply was a little arch.</p><p>“You’ll keep me posted.”</p><p>“Of course I will,” he said, smirking. </p><p>“Uh-huh,” she said. Darcy looked at the laptop again. “You sure you don’t want to take the artisan bread class?” she said, giggling and pointing to the screen. “More dough?”</p><p>“Shit,” he said, laughing. </p><p>“I know how you love dough,” she teased.</p><p>“I like this,” he said. “Spending time with you. Doesn’t matter what we do.”</p><p>“How do your toes feel?” she said. </p><p>“Maybe no more dancing,” he said. “But other than that, whatever you want, we’ll do.”</p><p>“You keep saying that,” Darcy said, with a sinking feeling. “Are you promising me whatever I want? What about what you want?”</p><p>“I want you,” he said. “That’s what I want.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Brock asked.</p><p>“Seems wrong somehow,” she said.</p><p>“You’re just not used to being a priority,” he said, almost blithely. </p><p>“Don’t you deserve to want things to? If I’ve learned something from my stupid class—” Darcy began.</p><p>“It’s not stupid,” he said.</p><p>“Both people should get something,” she insisted. </p><p>“Okay,” Brock said. “Point taken.” He sat his glass down and looked at her. “I want someone to come home to—to come home for. Honey, I—not that long ago, I woke up in a hospital bed, alone, looking like this”—he gestured to his face—“without anybody who cared.”</p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling a painful lurch. “I’m sure people cared.” He gave her a tender look.</p><p>“You’d say that, because you’re kind.” He looked away for a second. “I’m fucking lonely,” Brock said softly. “I spent my life focused on work, now I’m old and wondering what’s going to happen to me. They’re going to give me a retirement party at SHIELD someday and I’ll lose my mind.”</p><p>“But you’re so handsome and charismatic,” Darcy said, trying to be encouraging. “Plenty of women would be interested—” she was saying, when he scoffed.</p><p>“I think you’re underestimating the number of people who are freaked out by the scars,” he said. “I used to be handsome. I remember what that was like. Hold on.” He got up, sloshed his feet out of the foot spa, and left the room.</p><p>“Shit,” Darcy said out loud. She’d upset him. Also, the carpet had damp feet prints in it now. There were thumps from the other room. He came back a few moments later. “I really didn’t mean to upset you,” she said quickly.</p><p>“Here, look,” he said, plonking the photo into her lap, as if she hadn’t spoken. It was framed. He was getting a SHIELD award. Darcy picked it up. He was standing between Maria Hill and Sharon Carter.</p><p>“Oh,” she said dimly. He had been astonishingly handsome and photogenic. “That’s a good picture. Most people don’t look good like that under fluorescent lights. I always look kinda blue--”</p><p>“Yeah?” he said. He was grinning when she looked up.</p><p>“You’re always tan--what?” she said.</p><p>“Your face,” Brock said. “You couldn’t make words for a minute, honey.” To her surprise, he sounded amused, not upset. </p><p>“It’s not that different! You’re clearly the same guy,” Darcy said. “I’d totally recognize you.” They bickered about it for awhile. He stuck his feet back in the foot spa and refused to believe her. “You are hard-headed,” she told him. “And stubborn.”</p><p>“I’m stubborn?” he said, touching his chest. He looked at her wryly. “Look at you!”</p><p>“Me what?” she said.</p><p>“You and Braithwaite,” he said.</p><p>“Ian?”</p><p>“Ian,” he huffed out, “who you keep clinging to, even though he’s completely shitty and worthless. What’s that about?”</p><p>“I--I don’t know!” Darcy said. “We have a history!”</p><p>“A history where he breaks your shit, dismisses your attempts to do stuff with him, and thinks it’s funny that I might be interested in you?” he said. “Asshole.” His voice was irritated.</p><p>“How’d you know he breaks things?” she said.</p><p>“I was on the elevator the day he broke something your mom gave you,” Brock said.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah. It was a little pop-up card of the Paris skyline. He knocked coffee on it, trying to yank equipment around,” she said, sighing. </p><p>“And he doesn’t fucking care and you’re trying to reconnect with him and shit,” he said, gesturing in frustration. </p><p>“I just never thought I’d be the kind of woman who left somebody they were with for someone else,” she said, feeling sad. “I thought those were the bad people.” He looked at her.</p><p>"Have you never done anything really bad in your life?" he said.</p><p>"Well--" Darcy said.</p><p>"You wanna start tonight?" he said, leaning over with a frankly sexy grin. This time, his kiss was more intense. Without thinking, she put her hands around his neck.</p><p>“Yeah,” she whispered, when they broke apart. “A little. I do. It would be so easy to give in, stop trying so hard, just do what I want for <em> once </em>...”</p><p>“So give in,” he said, licking his mouth. “Live a little.” She met his eyes.</p><p> “Yeah,” she said. She leaned in tentatively, feeling her heart rate increase as their faces got closer. She’d never initiated a kiss with him. It felt like a radical act. Dangerous. She was choosing to do this, she thought, as she pressed her mouth against his. His hands reached for her clothes and she didn’t stop him. When he moved to climb on top of her, water sloshed out of the spa. “Oh my God,” Darcy said, laughing. She’d forgotten the spa.</p><p>“This is going to be a really funny story one day,” he said, pulling his shirt off. When he realized she was wide eyed--it was all the scarred muscles on display--he stopped. “You sure?” he said.</p><p>“Yeah,” she said, feeling slightly mesmerized as she reached her hand out to touch him. “I’m sure.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Two AM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ian,” Jane said, shaking him awake. He opened his eyes blearily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hummpf?” Ian said, picking his head up. He’d passed out on the couch, watching a soccer match. The TV was blaring. Thor reached over and turned down the volume. He had a rectangle of focaccia in one hand. Ian blinked, feeling fuzzy and confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian,” Jane repeated. He wiped the drool off his chin with his sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said. “Where’s Darce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not here,” Jane said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She didn’t come home?” Ian said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did she go?” Jane asked, frowning. “It’s two am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno,” Ian said. “She and Rumlow left hours ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Jane said. “Oh.” She dropped the hand that was on his shoulder. “Maybe she crashed at his place?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” Ian said. He looked at Thor. “There any bread left?” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want bread?” Jane said, looking baffled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ian said. “I’m sure Darcy’s fine, Jane. She didn’t text you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jane said, eyes flicking to his and then to Thor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ian said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is more bread and it is delicious,” Thor said. Jane turned to look at him, expression strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Ian said, standing and shuffling into the kitchen. He yawned. “I’m sure Darce’s fine. She probably crashed on his couch. You know how she falls asleep everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” Darcy said, breath hitching, as Brock moved. They’d stumbled into his bedroom in the middle of the night. Her thighs were shaking as she knelt on the mattress. He dug his thumbs into her hips with his next, sharp thrust and she came with a shudder, her body slumping onto the bed. For a moment, she felt boneless and outside of herself.  “Oh God,” she whispered, as Brock half-collapsed onto her. He rolled off with a groan. Darcy had closed her eyes, but she could hear him moving. The sheets felt cool against her cheek. She felt his mouth graze her bare back and turned her head to look at him behind her.  “You’re going to kill me,” she said, voice low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby,” he said. “I’m just getting started.” His expression was smug. Darcy rolled over onto her side with a sigh and brushed the hair out of his eyes. He was all sweaty; the strands clung to his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re proud of yourself, huh?” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Brock said, smirking. He moved closer, dotting kisses on her shoulder slowly. The movement was lingering and appreciative. She kept catching him staring at her body hungrily. He looked up, catching her eye, and turned serious. “I don’t want you to feel guilty,” he said quietly. He didn’t break eye contact. Darcy sighed and looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cheating on Ian,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck Ian,” Brock said roughly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fucking you,” Darcy said wryly. She interlaced her fingers with his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He treats you like shit,” he said. Darcy nodded, eyes on their hands. They swayed gently as she moved her forearm. Her pale, small fingers against his tanned, scarred hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s this meme,” she said. “About men cheating to, um, cope?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m that guy now,” she told him. She grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The joke is that the man says, ‘this is my emotional support sidechick,’ which--at this particular moment--is you,” Darcy told him. “You’re my emotional support sidechick.” He started to laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, I’m at least a good booty call,” Brock said, kissing her hand. “Maybe a jumpoff,” he added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a jumpoff?” Darcy said. He pulled her in close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I want to be your exit strategy?” Brock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My exit strategy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay here,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I’ll get moving guys into your place tomorrow, get your stuff over here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move me in?” Darcy said. “So quickly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said. She saw something in his eyes. “Doesn’t the sidechick always want to be the real deal?” Brock said wryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna be my main chick?” she said, grinning. She started to giggle. “Brock Rumlow wants to be my ride or die?” She ducked her head against his chest. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll move in with you, but if you hate it, you have to tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to hate it,” he said. She shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might,” Darcy said. “I could get on your nerves--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he cut in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stubborn,” Darcy whispered, pressing her mouth against his collarbone. The raised scars felt good against her lips. “So stubborn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m gone for work a lot, right?” he added. “You’d have this whole place to yourself. Entire apartment, the good cable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohhh, the good cable,” Darcy said, wiggling down to kiss his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And lots of really good sex when I’m here,” Brock said, rolling his hips slightly. He smirked. “Lots of sex, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Moving In, Moving On?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mmm, babe, I--I have to go,” Darcy said, attempting to pry herself out of Rumlow’s embrace.</p><p>“Why?” he said, stubbornly refusing to let go of her. They’d been kissing in bed. “The guys’ll handle everything, I already called,” he added, “no need to get dressed.” He eyed her with a smirk. </p><p>“Pfffht,” Darcy said, squirming and trying to wiggle towards the edge of the bed. He tightened his grip.</p><p>“I like what you’re wearing now.”</p><p>“I’m not wearing anything now,” she grumbled. Her clothes were strung all over the living room, if she remembered correctly.</p><p>“The sheets count,” he said, leaning forward to nuzzle at her.</p><p>“Your sheets count?” she asked wryly.</p><p>“Our sheets,” he said, kissing her neck. </p><p>“I need to tell Ian myself,” Darcy said. “It’s the right thing to do, Brock.” He huffed out a sigh, sounding like an aggravated rhino. “What?” she said. </p><p>“Don’t go,” he said. “I don’t want you to walk out that door and not come back.” His expression was half-petulant, half-pleading. Darcy melted a little. She couldn’t stand the sad look in his eyes.</p><p>“I’m coming back. Besides, I don’t want the guys seeing some of my things--”</p><p>“What things?” he said.</p><p>“My underwear, my vibrator, things like that,” Darcy listed out, “it might be awkward.” </p><p>“Oh,” he said, smirking. Unlike Ian, who had a horror of talking about anything vibrator-related in too much detail, Brock didn’t appear to be dissuaded.</p><p>“I can’t just let a bunch of dudes who work with you pick that up,” she repeated.</p><p>“Hmmm,” he said, looking distinctly, well, wicked. “I have a solution?” he offered. Darcy was highly suspicious.</p><p>“What?” she said.</p><p>“You go, I go,” he said, voice pleased. “We take all that fun stuff with us.” He grinned. “Unless you want to buy more fun stuff? We could buy all kinds of--”</p><p>“Oh God,” Darcy said, starting to giggle. “I don’t know how to deal with you.” She was too happy, she thought. She felt almost giddy from the intensity of her infatuation with him. He kissed her noisily. “Wait, wait!” Darcy said, “Stop! I have a plan.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Brock said. “What plan?”</p><p>“I’m calling Jane. Unhand me, Commander,” she joked.</p><p>"Say that again."</p><p>"Nope," Darcy said. "I'm saving it. You get a weekly allotment of those." He gave her one more enthusiastic kiss and let her go. Darcy rolled over and clamored awkwardly out of bed. She turned back to look at Brock. “Do you remember where my pants were?” she asked.</p><p>“Couch,” he said, smirking widely. He put his hands behind his head and mock-whistled at her as she walked away.</p><p>“Are you catcalling me?” Darcy said.</p><p>“Do you like it?” he asked.</p><p>“Maybe,” she said. “But never tell Jane!” He laughed.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Hello?” Jane said, whispering into the phone. “Darce?”</p><p>“Hey,” Darcy said. “I have a big favor to ask you. You know where I spent the night?”</p><p>“Okay,” Jane said. She lowered her voice even more. “I know. Ian has no clue what’s going on. He thinks you crashed on Rumlow’s couch.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. She’d just found her underwear in the couch. Then Jane’s words dawned on her. “Seriously?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jane said sarcastically. “What’s happening?”</p><p>“Rumlow wants me to move in, I’m going to try,” she whispered. “He wants to send his guys for my stuff today--”</p><p>“Isn’t that a workplace violation?” Jane said.</p><p>“How many times have I moved your stuff?”</p><p>“Okay,” Jane said. “So? You want to?”</p><p>“Yeah," Darcy admitted. She could tell she sounded swoony and excited. "Will you pack my underwear and the contents of my nightstand, please?” Darcy said. “Before all the STRIKE people get there?”</p><p>“It’s in the nightstand, huh?” Brock called, loudly enough for Jane to overhear.</p><p>“Okay,” Jane said, voice more gleeful. “Can I tell him?”</p><p>“No, I think I should do that--” Darcy said, sighing. This was going to suck. He might throw a tantrum.</p><p>“Just tell him to fuck off,” Brock said, strolling into the living room. Naked. “Or can I?” he asked, rubbing her back. </p><p>“I want to!” Jane whispered.</p><p>“Behave,” Darcy said. “Both of you.” She cleared her throat. “Jane, please pass the phone to Ian.”</p><p>"Fine," Jane grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>She listened as Jane padded into their bedroom, said something, and passed the phone to Ian. “Hullo?” Ian said. "Darce?"</p><p>“Hi,” Darcy said, trying to marshal her concentration. Brock had dropped to his knees in front of her and was gently kissing the round of her stomach. She frowned and him and mouthed <em> stop that. </em>He chuckled and continued kissing her. “Ian,” Darcy said. "It's, uh, me. We need to talk."</p><p>“Yes?” Ian said.</p><p>“I think we’ve both been unhappy for awhile,” she said. “So, I’ve decided we should end the relationship. I'm going to move out--”</p><p>“You’re moving out?” Ian said. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“Rumlow has offered to let me move in with him,” Darcy said.</p><p>“Oh,” Ian said. She waited. There was no fireworks, only silence on the line. She could actually hear him channel-surfing.</p><p>"Ian?"</p><p>"Yes?" he said. Darcy was puzzled. He was calm. That surprised her. </p><p>“So, the STRIKE guys will be picking up my stuf--oh,” she said, gasping slightly. She looked down. Brock grinned up at her, flicking his tongue over his mouth lasciviously. Darcy had to bite her lips to keep from laughing at his naughty expression. “Picking up my stuff today,” she got out. He leaned in again.</p><p>“Oh,” Ian said. “I thought you wanted to work on things?”</p><p>“I’ve changed my mind,” Darcy said, voice hitching. She was having trouble focusing on her words. "I think this is better. I, uh, I think we'll be able to get along at work if we don't live together. And have space apart."</p><p>"Permanently," Rumlow whispered, smirking. She felt his breath ghost over her thighs.</p><p>"Permanently," she added, babbling a little. "Permanent space. At Rumlow's."  </p><p>“Darce,” Ian said.  “You’re really moving out?”</p><p>“Yes,” Darcy said, wriggling. “Oh. I’m moving out.”</p><p>“All right,” Ian said evenly. “I’ll see you at work.”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said slowly. “I’ll see you at work, too?” she added, then gasped when Brock moved again, squeezing her thighs.</p><p>“All right,” Ian said, seeming not to hear her. “See you at work.” He hung up. The phone bonked in her ear. Darcy felt wobbly.</p><p>“You and your tongue!” Darcy said, mock-glaring at him. Brock laughed at her.</p><p>“Yeah?” he said. “What do you want me to do with it, sweetheart?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“G’day, Jane,” Jack Rollins said, when she opened the door to the apartment. He was standing there with several of the more ominous-looking STRIKE guys. Jane recognized Smith, Evans, Callahan, and Lee. </p><p>“Hi,” Jane said, surprised. “Oh, wow, all of you showed up?”</p><p>“We’re the official STRIKE moving guys,” Smith said casually.</p><p>“Yep,” Callahan said. “Sometimes we move guns and dangerous people, sometimes we move gorgeous girls to the old man’s place.” Jack grinned his typically feral grin.</p><p>“But the boss always makes us work weekends,” Evans added dryly. Their expressions were so deadpan, Jane started to laugh.</p><p>“I’ve got her, um, clothes and things already packed,” Jane told the guys. “Did you want to say hello to Thor before we start moving the furniture?”</p><p>“Sure,” Jack said, stepping inside. They followed. From somewhere in the kitchen, Thor bellowed out a greeting.</p><p>"Gentlemen of STRIKE!" he called out. "Join me in a beverage of the moving!" The other men said hello and walked into the kitchen.</p><p>“Where’s Boot--?” Jack started to say as the beers were passed around, then saw Ian standing in the hallway. “Boothby,” Jack said.</p><p>“Hullo, fellas,” Ian said. “Maybe after you get Darce’s stuff moved, we can get a real drink?”</p><p>“A drink?” Jane said slowly. “You’re taking this news well, Ian.” Ian nodded.</p><p>"Everything's fine," Ian said.</p><p>“You're being real easy-going,” Jack said, looking puzzled.</p><p>“I know it’ll all turn out well,” Ian said, almost grandly. He beamed at them. From somewhere in the kitchen huddle, Jane heard Evans whisper.</p><p>“He’s still got heatstroke, hasn’t he?”  </p><p>"Maybe he hit his head again," Callahan replied.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“This seems wrong,” Darcy said. “Everyone’s moving my stuff without me? I don’t have to do any work?” They were in bed again. Brock grinned.</p><p>“You can buy ‘em pizza,” Brock said, sliding his hand over her back. His thumb kneaded a spot low on her back. "Everybody likes pizza when they help people move," he added, putting pressure on her muscle.</p><p>“Ohhhhhh,” Darcy moaned. “That feels so good. How’d you know?”</p><p>“Because I pay attention,” he said. Then he smirked. “And your posture’s gonna kill you, sweetheart. We need to strengthen these muscles--”</p><p>“Are you going to say the word gym to me? I can put my clothes back on,” Darcy said jokingly. “I refuse to become a person who eats kale,” she said. He laughed.</p><p>“I’d never make you eat kale, baby,” he said, cupping her face. “Once you’re all moved in, we’ll have dinner to celebrate. You want champagne?”</p><p>“You’re going to spoil me rotten,” Darcy said. “Oh!”</p><p>“What?” he said.</p><p>“I need to text Jane to send my Rothko poster,” Darcy said. "I can't forget that." He beamed at her.</p><p>"Nope," Brock said. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They made short work of moving her things. Ian even helped them load the SUV. “Why’s he helping?” Lee whispered to Jack, as Callahan took a poster from Jane. </p><p>“It’s bloody odd,” Jack said. Ian was smiling at Smith. Smith looked like he wanted to step backwards. He came over a moment later.</p><p>“Rollins,” Smith whispered. </p><p>“Yeah?” Jack said.</p><p>“He still wants to get a drink,” Smith said in a low voice. “What should we do?”</p><p>“Take him for a drink, then drop off Lewis’s stuff,” Jack said. </p><p>“Bizarre,” Lee said.</p><p>“Hey, Jane,” Ian called over to Jane, still talking to Callahan, “do you want to get a drink with us?”</p><p>“What is wrong with him?” Smith asked.</p><p>"No bloody clue," Jack said.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They were drinking at a bar when Ian leaned over to Jack conspiratorially. “You wanna know why I’m not upset, mate?” he said. “I can’t say it in front of Foster, she’d slap me.” He grinned drunkenly. Jack noted his glazed eyes and dopey expression. He was pissed. They were going to have to carry him back.</p><p>“Sure,” Jack said. He glanced at Jane and Thor--squared off with Evans and Callahan--across the room. They were playing pool. Thor made a shot, then high-fived Jane. “What can’t you tell Foster?” Jack asked.</p><p>“I’m not worried about Darce,” Ian said. He spun his beer bottle. “I know what she’s up to.” He started to laugh. "She'll be crawling back"--he burped--"in no time."</p><p>“What?” Jack said, baffled.</p><p>“She’s trying to make me jealous, crashing on Rumlow’s couch,” he said, wagging a finger. “She tried to make me jealous of him before, with the bread stuff,” Ian said, laughing. “Like he’d be after her. Can you believe that?”</p><p>“They are, uh, moving in together,” Jack said slowly. At that, Ian laughed harder. </p><p>“Moving--in--together!” he howled, laughing until tears rolled down his face. “Does she think I’m that bloody fucking gullible?” he said. "Like Rumlow would want her."</p><p>"Hang on a tick," Jack said coolly. He gestured to Smith.</p><p>"What is it?" Smith said. </p><p>"Get him home before I'm tempted to take a crack at him," Jack said. </p><p>"We could take him hiking again?" Smith said dryly. A few feet away, a drunk Ian was singing off-key.</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Things Are Going To Change Around Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jack just called, they’ve got your stuff---what are you doing?” Brock said to her. Darcy stopped staring sadly at his kitchen cabinets and looked over at him. His expression was curious. “You looking for something?” he asked.</p><p>“You have absolutely no sugar in this apartment,” she said.</p><p>“Uh, no. There might be some agave back there. Cabinet next to the stove,” Brock said. Darcy peered in and found the unopened bottle.</p><p>“This is sad,” she said. “You haven’t even opened it.”</p><p>“I don’t like sweet things?” he said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. “Except for you.”</p><p>“Pffhhht,” Darcy said. But she couldn’t help beaming at him. He kissed her shoulder.</p><p>“What do you need sugar for?” he said. She eyed him.</p><p>“I was going to make something for everybody moving my stuff,” Darcy said. “I feel bad. You’re supposed to be polite--stop that,” she added, as Brock blew raspberries on her neck. He lifted his mouth and grinned, scars twisting. “You need to put on pants.”</p><p>“We’ll order them pizza,” he reassured her. “And I’ve got beer.”</p><p>“Uh-huh, I noticed,” Darcy said, grinning back. “Some things are going to change around here, you know that, right?”</p><p>“Yeah?” he said.</p><p>“I’m buying sugar,” she said. “Refined white sugar.”</p><p>“Baby, no, it’s poison,” he said, in a fake-alarmed voice. </p><p>“Also, I need to put on pants before they get here,” Darcy said. Brock groaned, making her giggle. “Sorry to be such a bad news machine,” she said. She turned to face him. “Any regrets about taking me on?”</p><p>“Nope,” he said, giving her a frankly smoldering look.</p><p>“Okay,” she said slowly, grinning. She could feel the heat in her body. </p><p>“Let me help you with your pants?” he offered.</p><p>“Mm-hmm--ahhh!” Darcy said, as he picked her up by surprise and carried her to the bed. She was giggling when he plopped her down. “I can’t believe you have the energy for this. We don’t have a ton of time--” Darcy began. He was already sliding her underwear over her knees.</p><p>“Oh, it won’t be my best work,” Brock told her, smirking. “But I’ll be quick.” He leaned down to kiss her and then reached for a condom. “I should’ve asked Jack to buy more of these goddamn things,” Brock said, frowning.</p><p>“We’ll get Jane, she’s good at stuff like that,” Darcy said, unable to stop touching him. She shivered a little as she ran her hands over his chest.</p><p>“What?” he said, looking at her. He’d been putting the condom on.</p><p>“You’re just so--wow,” Darcy said. “Really wow.” He grinned at her.</p><p>“Can you believe you resisted me for this long?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“He still passed out?” Jack said, looking in the rearview mirror. They’d meant to take Boothby back and leave him at the apartment. But he’d passed out in the back of Jack’s SUV, wedged between a box of Darcy’s clothes and Smith. They’d debated what to do in the parking lot of the bar, before deciding to leave him be.</p><p>“Yup,” Smith said dryly. “He’s out.” </p><p>“Like a light,” Callahan added. He smirked. “The asshole.”</p><p>“Piece of shit’s not gonna be a problem for us,” Smith agreed. Thankfully, Ian had been the only heavy drinker of the night. Everyone else was seesawing between mocking amusement at Ian and nervous tension about how this would go, Jack thought, checking his rearview mirror.</p><p>“Good,” Jack said. Jane’s car was behind his. Evans and Lee were riding with them. But Jack was concerned with Foster’s nerves. He could see her frowning. She was afraid Ian would make a scene, she’d whispered to Jack. Jack hadn’t told her Ian’s mad theory that Darcy was trying to make him jealous; he was too afraid that either Foster or Rumlow would be set off.  “Don’t want any scenes,” he told the other men in the car.</p><p>“I still say we leave him on a trail, let him find his own way home,” Smith said. </p><p>“Uh-huh,” Jack said.</p><p>“Romanoff would say yes to my ideas,” Smith said.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy had just put on her leggings when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Brock said, yawning. </p><p>“Thank you,” Darcy said. He buckled his pants, kissed her lightly, and then left the bedroom. She could hear voices and a second later, there was a knock on the door.</p><p>“It’s me. Can I come in?” Jane said.</p><p>“Yes,” Darcy said, buttoning her shirt. Jane came inside and smiled at her. She put down the box she was carrying.</p><p>“We have all your stuff,” she said excitedly, hugging Darcy. “I’m so happy for you!”</p><p>“Yeah?” Darcy said, still hugging Jane. “Because you get custody of Ian.”</p><p>“Shit,” Jane said, pulling back, “I knew there had to be a downside.” She and Darcy giggled at each other. </p><p>“Whoops,” Darcy joked. “He seems to be taking it well, though.” Jane rolled her eyes. Darcy laughed.</p><p>“He’ll be a buttmunch eventually,” Jane said.</p><p>“But it’ll be your problem,” Darcy cracked. “Let’s go see all these handsome men helping me move.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s your vibrator box,” Jane said, gesturing to the box she'd brought in.</p><p>“Thank you,” Darcy said. “Brock is excited to have custody of that.” Jane burst out laughing.</p><p>“He seems very happy,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone so happy to see our crappy thrift store stuff.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Darcy had watched them move in all of her possessions: boxes of clothes, her bedroom nightstand and lamps, a rickety bookcase, her makeup and bath products. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing,” Darcy said to one of the guys. The laconic one, Callahan. “I’m sure it was a lot of work. Are you sure you don’t need another beer?” He gave her a smirk. She’d already distributed drinks and ordered everyone pizza. It was supposed to arrive at any moment. </p><p>“Boss,” Callahan said. “She’s too good for you.” Across the room, Brock was carrying some of Darcy’s baking stuff. She could see where Jane had written what was inside on the exterior of the cardboard.</p><p>“I know,” Brock said, smirking. “I’m not letting her leave this damn apartment.”</p><p>“You have to give her back to me eventually, she’s integral to my science,” Jane said, carrying in a box with the word <em> clothes </em>written on the side.</p><p>“I’ll give you back this thing,” Brock joked, poking at Darcy’s skinny, wooden bookcase. </p><p>“Bit wobbly, ain’t it?” Jack said.</p><p>“IKEA?” Evans asked. </p><p>“Dumpster diving,” Darcy said. “I painted it yellow myself though.”</p><p>“Jesus,” Brock said, shaking his head.</p><p>“What? People leave really good furniture at the end of the semester,” Darcy said. “I like the bookcase!”</p><p>“That solves it,” Smith said, as the pizza man appeared in the doorway, “she likes real old things, Rumlow.” As Brock sputtered, they all laughed.</p><p>“Don’t rag him,” Darcy said. “Oh, yay! Pizza. Thank you!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They were sitting around eating pizza and talking when the door pushed open with a creak. “Hullo,” Ian said, looking bleary eyed. </p><p>“Hi--” Darcy said, startled. She was aware that Brock had tensed next to her. </p><p>“Is that pizza?” Ian asked.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here's your dose of sweet fluff :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. But Some Things Never Change</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darcy watched, stunned, as Ian sat down on the floor in his boot and ate a slice of pizza. “Help yourself, pal,” Brock said slyly. “You’re injured.”</p><p>“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, nodding. The STRIKE guys all looked at each other. Darcy didn’t dare look at Brock, she was too afraid she’d laugh.</p><p>“S’good pizza,” Ian said, mouth full. “You all moved in?”</p><p>“Yes,” Darcy said politely. She wondered how she’d ever stayed with him for so long. He was clearly wasted. But apparently that kept him from complaining about his injury.</p><p>“She’s all moved in,” Brock said coolly. “Nothing for you to worry about anymore.” The last word was stressed.</p><p>“Darcy’s not a girl you need to worry about,” Ian cracked, grinning at Rumlow. </p><p>“What’s <em> that </em> supposed to mean?” Darcy said archly.  She glared at him. Ian chewed obliviously and then had the nerve to smile at her.</p><p>“I never worried about you, Darce,” he said. “Ever. You’re reliable. Old reliable.” He burped loudly.</p><p>“Charming,” Jane said. “I think it’s time we all left, let Darcy get settled in her new home.”</p><p>“Her new home with Rumlow,” Ian echoed, his smirk turning smug. He actually laughed. Darcy almost wanted to say something, but Brock shifted next to her. </p><p>“The guys will take you home, Braithwaite,” he said, surreptitiously squeezing Darcy’s knee.</p><p>“Boothby,” Ian corrected.</p><p>“That’s right,” Brock said. “I keep forgetting.” </p><p>“Imagine that,” Callahan said dryly. </p><p>“Well,” Smith said. “Evans?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Evans said. “Ian, we’ll give you a ride home.” </p><p>“All right,” Ian said, stumbling to his feet, swaying, and burping again. “I’m going to get ‘nother one,” he said. He looked at Darcy and almost leered as he picked up another slice. “I’ll see you at work, Darce. We can talk then about things, you know?” </p><p>“Things?” Darcy said, raising her eyebrows.</p><p>“We’ve got a lot of things, you and me,” Ian said. “Six years of things.” He was still grinning in that obnoxious way. “Even if you’ve moved out,” he added, chewing noisily. “We’ve still got our things.”</p><p>“Even if I’ve moved out?” Darcy said. He nodded, chuckling.</p><p>“That’s right,” Ian said. He nodded to himself again. “Even if you’ve moved out.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Jack said, his expression murderous. “It’s late,” he added. Evans and Smith had to practically carry Ian out by his elbows. Jane made a face and left with Thor. </p><p>“Bye!” Darcy said to Jane. Brock shut the door after STRIKE filed out and looked at her. His scarred face was grim.</p><p>“I’m going to kill him,” Brock said. Darcy burst out laughing. “What?” Brock said, frowning. He still looked pissed when he sank down next to her on the couch.</p><p>“You can’t kill him, we have <em> things,” </em>Darcy said dramatically. </p><p>“The motherfucker,” Brock said. She wiggled into Brock’s lap and started kissing him. He paused, blinked, and then grinned at her. “You’ve got things, huh?” Brock said.</p><p>“Did you want to see my things? I have a box full of things, baby,” Darcy said, biting her lip. She wiggled her eyebrows at him.</p><p>“I think I need to see that, yeah,” Brock said, smirking slowly. The way his eyes lit up made her feel elated. </p><p>“Follow me,” Darcy said, leading him to the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>She’d left the box on the bed. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” she said, feeling a flutter of nervousness low in her belly. It had seemed like a good idea, but she suddenly felt shy. What if he was put off?</p><p>“Yeah, of course I’m okay,” he said, looking at her quizzically. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She paused and inhaled.</p><p>“That guy who just left, he didn’t like knowing about these,” Darcy said, unfolding the edge of the cardboard flap and running her fingers over the edge. </p><p>“He’s an asshole,” Brock said, squeezing her waist. “Show ‘em to me?”</p><p>“Okay,” she said softly. He smiled and kissed her neck. She felt him hook his thumbs into her leggings and pull gently. “Ohhh,” Darcy said. “Does that mean you want a demonstration?” He chuckled, mouth close to her ear.</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” he said, voice raspy. </p><p>“You could give me a hand,” Darcy said.</p><p>“I’ve got two,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll give you both.” She felt his scarred thumb edge over her hip and shivered. She turned and started undressing him. They were sprawled in bed when Brock grinned at Darcy. “You need more batteries?” he teased. </p><p>“Possibly,” Darcy said. He stuck his tongue out a fraction. “What are you smiling about?” she said. His expression was lascivious. He’d seemed especially amused when she explained there was a whole category called bullet vibrators. </p><p>“I’m already making plans for when I come back from missions, dead on my feet,” Brock said. “You’ve got plans?” Darcy said. </p><p>“Fun plans, sweetheart. What’s this one do again?” he said, holding up her red one.  “And where’s the damn button?”</p><p>“It flicks,” Darcy said, grinning and blushing, “to imitate oral sex. The button is on the bottom.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” he said, pressing the button. He looked startled and amused at the same time, studying the movement of the tip of the toy. Darcy started to laugh at his expression, but then he smirked at her. “You want me to go first?” he offered. “Just for comparative purposes?” His expression turned more sly. “Or second?” he said, leaning forward to kiss her and sliding down his hand. “I might wanna go second and kiss you some more.”</p><p>“How are you this perfect?” Darcy asked, giggling. “Ohhh. Fuck.” She leaned into his touch and wrapped an arm around his neck. “Oh God, Brock.” He had the nerve to chuckle at her. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Earth to Darcy,” Jane said, waving a hand in front of Darcy’s face. She jumped. Jane’s hand was practically in front of her nose.</p><p>“Sorry. What do you need?” Darcy asked.</p><p>“I was just asking you if you wanted to get lunch without someone,” Jane said significantly. She gave Darcy a look.</p><p>“Who?” Darcy asked, puzzled.</p><p>“Ian!” Jane said, laughing. “He’s in the mens’ room.”</p><p>“Oh,” Darcy said. She honestly hadn’t thought about Ian much all day. He was back on his crutches again and he’d said something to her in the breakroom about his hangover and she’d had to ask him to repeat it and he’d stammered something about the coffee. Weird, Darcy thought. “Sorry,” she repeated, shrugging.</p><p>“You’re all sex-brained, aren’t you?” Jane said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Darcy sighed out. She was grinning at nothing when there was a knock on the lab wall. Brock was standing there.</p><p>“I came to steal your assistant, Jane,” he said, grinning so his scars twisted. “This is a felony in progress.”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said, standing up. She looked at Jane. “You want me to bring you back lunch?” </p><p>“You’re leaving me?” Jane said, mock-horrified. “With him and his hungover mansprain?”</p><p>“You got custody of Ian in the divorce,” Darcy said. “I told you. And Thor will be there.” They left a glum-looking Jane groaning at her laptop and trying to get Thor on the phone.</p><p>“Why--why doesn’t he have a phone?!” Jane mock-complained.</p><p>“I’m sure Thor will rescue her,” Darcy said, as Brock shut the lab door.</p><p>“I saw him in the gym, he’s around,” Brock said. “You want to get--oh, hello.”  His voice turned grim. Darcy looked up. Ian was walking towards them on his crutches. </p><p>“Hullo,” Ian said, smirking. “The new roommates headed off to lunch?”</p><p>“Yes,” Brock said. “You mind that foot, Braithewaite.”</p><p>“Boothby,” Ian said, as they circled around him carefully. He was walking gingerly, but Darcy thought it was more the alcohol than the sprain. </p><p>“That’s right,” Brock said.</p><p>“Darce, can we talk after lunch?” Ian asked. Darcy looked back.</p><p>“About what?” she called back. “Did I leave something there?” </p><p>“Uh, no,” he said.</p><p>“Oh,” she said, stepping onto the elevator with Brock. The doors shut. “That’s weird,” Darcy said, “what do you think--mmm.” Brock cut off her words with a kiss.</p><p> </p><p> Darcy was smiling happily at the menu when Brock looked at her. “Do you want to be late for work and get lettuce wraps?” she asked him.</p><p>“He wants you back,” he said, expression serious. “That little fucker.”</p><p>“What?” Darcy asked.</p><p>“Boothby, he wants you back,” Brock repeated. “That’s what he wants to fucking talk about. Goddammit.”</p><p>“I just left!” she said. “And he probably just wants an audience to complain about his foot or his hangover or rant about, like, some soccer trade or outdoor thing that I have no clue about.” She waved her hand. “Like, blahblahblah, Christian Rinaldo is climbing Everest!” Darcy rolled her eyes. She’d caught herself wondering how she’d ever stayed with him. </p><p>“I don’t think that’s happening,” Brock said, grinning at her. “And, yeah, we can be late for work,” he added, as Darcy sipped her soda.</p><p>“I don’t know how I even stood being around him,” Darcy said. He leaned in.</p><p>“Yeah?” Brock said.</p><p>“Seriously, I’m so much happier than I’ve been in years,” she said, taking another sip. </p><p>“You wanna have sex in the back of an official SHIELD vehicle?” Brock asked. She almost choked on her drink.</p><p>“How--how are you not tired?” she wondered aloud, mystified.</p><p>“That’s the other benefit of not being dead,” Brock said. “No hangovers and plenty of stamina, sweetheart.” He smirked.</p><p>“You’ve got to pace yourself,” Darcy said, frowning. “I’m just regular alive.”</p><p>“You could get hurt,” he said, nodding seriously. She looked at him. He looked at her.</p><p>“I mean, not that hurt,” Darcy said. “Do you think they would box our lettuce wraps?”</p><p>“I’ll ask,” Brock said.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Darcy said, tracing the scars on his stomach. “I have a question?” They were curled up in the back of his SUV, in the darkest, least occupied corner of the SHIELD parking deck. </p><p>“Hmmm?” Brock said. He was chewing a spring roll. They’d sort of fled the restaurant with takeout containers.</p><p>“How’d you find a secret sex spot at work?” she asked archly.</p><p>“I don’t know that it’s secret,” he said, grinning. “I’m just guessing.”</p><p>“We won’t be arrested?” Darcy said. He shook his head.</p><p>“Nah. I think I can talk us into a citation,” he said. “I’ve met some judges when we did FISA warrants, I know people.”</p><p>“That sounded like bragging,” Darcy said, using his stomach like a table for her cup of sauce. It was flatter than her table,  she thought. He grinned lazily.</p><p>“It’s early in the relationship, I’m still trying to impress you,” Brock told her. “You want my fortune cookie?”</p><p>“Yes, but you open it and read the fortune,” she said. He cracked the cookie, passing her the pieces. She arranged them in the shape of a smile on his chest.</p><p>“That’s cute,” he said, tilting his chin down to look.</p><p>“I know.” She smiled. “What’s it say?”</p><p>“A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming in...your vehicle?” Brock read aloud, before he started to laugh. </p><p>“It does not!” she said, pulling the slip of paper out of his hand. He shrugged, putting his hands behind his head. A sliver of fortune cookie slid across his chest and Darcy caught it and popped it into her mouth. She squinted at the fortune. “A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life?” she said, reading the real one.</p><p>“I didn’t see a difference,” Brock said, inhaling. “Both true. Completely accurate.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.</p><p>“I’m basing all my decisions on fortune cookies now,” he said. </p><p>“Good plan,” she said, eating another piece of cookie.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I brought you some noodles,” Darcy told Jane, setting down the bag with Jane’s takeout. She wasn’t going to mention being late. “Since I didn’t know what you did for lunch.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Jane said wryly. She lowered her voice, so Ian wouldn’t overhear. He was working on his laptop. “You know your shirt’s inside-out, right?”</p><p>“Shit,” Darcy said. “I’ll go straighten it out.” She turned and was headed for the ladies’ room when Ian said her name. “Yes?” Darcy said.</p><p>“Are you going to the break room for coffee?” he said, standing up slowly. “I’ll go with you.”</p><p>“Oh, okay,” Darcy said. She could get coffee, she thought. They walked together to the break room. Darcy asked him about their current research project. He replied politely, which was a relief. She was talking about Jane’s grant proposals and conferences when Ian leaned against the counter. “I think we should be thinking about the one in Sweden in September,” Darcy began, when she realized he was tilting towards her, expression intent. “Are you okay?” Darcy said.</p><p>“Darce, I want you to know,” he said, trying to embrace her. He fumblingly attempted an awkward half-hug. </p><p>“Ian!” she said, alarmed. That must’ve startled him, because he he lost his balance and clung her, one hand grabbing one of her boobs. “Ow,” Darcy said, trying to hold him up. “What are you doing?” she scolded, as he righted himself. He leaned against the counter again, out of breath.</p><p>“I--I was trying to talk to you,” Ian stuttered. He paused. “Your shirt is inside out.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Seeing Red</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I own nothing! TW: more of Ian being a grabby asshole.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ian, I don’t want you ever to touch me again,” Darcy said firmly. She’d moved several inches away and he was leaning against the break room counter.</p><p>“C’mon, Darce, stop it,” he said, taking a wobbly step forward.</p><p>“Stop what?” Darcy said sharply. </p><p>“You’re using Rumlow to make me jealous,” Ian said. To her utter surprise and irritation, he actually smirked at her and laughed. “I knew you weren’t together, I told Rollins--”</p><p>“What?” Darcy said. “You think we’re not together?” she said dimly. Blood had rushed to her ears, so his reply was muffled by her heartbeat.</p><p>“Of course not,” he said. “I know this is all to get me back.”  It was like she heard him from a distance. She felt a sudden, blinding anger at him, years of repressed anger bubbling up and taking her breath away with the force of all her emotions. He thought she was faking her relationship with Brock? He’d tried to make a move on her, assuming she still wanted him. He was condescending and obnoxious and horrible, her brain raged. Just horrible. She finally understood what the phrase <em> seeing red </em>meant as she looked at him, trying to calm down. Her chest hurt. She took a step backwards, realizing she would probably shove him if he landed on her again. </p><p>But Ian made a mistake. He took another step forward and actually leered at her. “C’mon, Darce,” he said. There was something awful in his expression. She felt like she didn’t know him at all.</p><p>“No,” Darcy said. “No.” Her voice sounded weird to her ears. She needed to get out of there. But he was between her and the door. “No, Ian!” she repeated. Her voice had gone up at the end, sounding unnaturally high.</p><p>“Why are you shrieking?” he said, chuckling. He actually reached for her then and she slapped his hand away.</p><p>“Move,” she snapped. “I am so sick of you. I never want you near me again.”</p><p>“Sure,” he said smugly. </p><p>“Get out of the way,” Darcy repeated. She was blocked in by the small table in the break room, unless she climbed over it.</p><p>“Uh-huh, right,” he said. Then he hopped forward again. </p><p>“Ian. Get. Out. Of. The. Way.” All she got in answer was another smug chuckle and leering smile. Her ears were doing that blood rushing thing again as he leaned her way. “Step back,” Darcy said, “Ian, I want you to step back.”</p><p>“Or you’ll what? Kiss me?” he said, leering again. The look on his face made Darcy want to vomit. That was the only explanation for what Darcy did next. She had a mini taser on her messenger bag. It was a gift from Tony Stark and looked like an Iron Man toy. He’d given it to her so she could sneak it in places. When Ian moved forward again, she grabbed the taser and zapped him in the chest. He went down with a satisfying <em> thunk </em>. Thankfully, he didn’t hit his head. Darcy stood there, mouth open, for a moment. On the floor, Ian groaned.</p><p>“Darcy?” a voice said. Sharon Carter was standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“He grabbed my boob and cornered me and I tased him,” Darcy said. </p><p>“Good,” Sharon said, looking down at Ian with evident scorn. She held her hand out. “You need help climbing over him?”</p><p>“He was freaking me out,” Darcy said, taking the hand Sharon offered. “Thank you.” As they walked away, she heard Ian groaning some more. “I forgot the coffee,” Darcy said.</p><p>“We’ll send someone to get it,” Sharon said. “Let’s see what Jane says?”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said. She felt vaguely stunned. She hadn’t felt this way since London.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m firing his ass,” Jane declared, as soon as Darcy got the words out. “That was sexual assault.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Sharon said.</p><p>“What if he makes a scene?” Darcy wondered. </p><p>“STRIKE and security are already removing him from the building,” Sharon said. “I sent Rollins a text--”</p><p>“Have them take him to a hotel. He’s not going to retaliate against you because I control his references and where he lives--for now,” Jane said. “I’m so sick of this asshole. He’s out.”</p><p>“Okay,” Darcy said slowly. Jane was calling Maria Hill and setting up a meeting with HR. </p><p>“They’ve probably got tapes of the break room. With audio,” Sharon said. </p><p>“Thanks,” Jane said, relaying the information to Maria. Darcy was sitting there numbly when Brock came into the lab.</p><p>“Baby, are you all right?” he said. He looked at Sharon and Jane. “What’s going on? Nobody’ll tell me--”</p><p>“I--I--” Darcy said, bursting into tears. It was a relief when Brock held her. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“He’s not going to bother you again,” Brock said, tucking Darcy under a blanket in bed. He’d finally been told, after Darcy had a meeting with HR, Ian’s lab stuff had been packed up, and Jane had asked Brock to take her home. She could tell he was trying not to upset her.</p><p>“Yeah,” she said softly. Darcy was vaguely aware that Ian would pitch a fit, but Jane had reminded her that Jane had authority on her lab staff. She’d insisted on it, so SHIELD could never fire Darcy. That meant she could easily fire Ian now. It had already been done. She’d overheard Maria tell Jane that a SHIELD severance package would be offered as a carrot, but the real stick would be revoking his work visa if he made any trouble. It was all intensely fraught. She wanted him to go quietly, but was that letting him off the hook? It was impossible to tell. Darcy sighed. How had Ian turned out to be this guy?</p><p>“Sweetheart?” Brock said.  </p><p>“Please don’t murder him. I don’t want you to go to jail,” she told him. She gave him a weak smile and Brock cupped her face. </p><p>“Do I gotta?” he said, pulling a face. “I’m sure the guys would help me hide a body--”</p><p>“Very funny,” Darcy said, smiling more genuinely. </p><p>“What is it?” Brock asked, when her smile faltered.</p><p>“I just--you don’t think someone you know is that guy, you know?” Darcy said. “I was standing there and he wouldn’t move--I felt so cornered and he just leered at me. I made excuses for him for years. <em> Years.” </em>Her voice cracked. “I tied myself up in knots, trying to believe he was better than what he was,” she said. “Was he always like that and I just didn’t see it?” She looked at Brock.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, sitting on the bed. He took her hand. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he said, stroking her fingers. He went on. “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that you can’t predict what people are capable of, you hear me?”</p><p>“Sure,” Darcy said, feeling skeptical.</p><p>“I worked with people,” he said slowly. “I knew them for years, I met their kids, I never knew they were HYDRA. It shakes you up. Your feelings aren’t wrong, baby. And this isn’t something you could  have predicted or prevented, all right?”</p><p>“Okay,” she said, comforted by the seriousness of his tone. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”</p><p>“You wanna talk to my therapist, we can go together?” he offered.</p><p>“That might be good,” Darcy admitted. “But what about some Chinese now?” That made him laugh. He kissed her forehead and went to get the phone. </p><p> </p><p>Darcy leaned back against the headboard. She only cried a little. She was looking for a tissue when she realized Brock had left a tin of the Choc-Aids on the nightstand. That made her laugh. </p><p>“You okay?” he said, sticking his head into the room. He had the phone.</p><p>“I just realized you’ve been patching me up since forever,” she joked. She held up the tin.</p><p>“Nah,” he said. “I’m just bribing you to like me.” He grinned. “So, Chinese, chocolate, art museums, what have I missed?”</p><p>“You already covered gelato, too,” Darcy said. “That was good.” Her Rothko poster from the art museum was hanging opposite his bed. Something else occurred to her. “And toys,” she added. They were in the nightstand. </p><p>“I didn’t mention that--I was trying to be tactful and shit,” Brock said, looking a little bit embarrassed by his own happiness.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “You’re so great.” She smiled at him. He grinned back. There was so much good energy between them, she thought. </p><p>“What do you want? Fried rice?” he asked. That was her favorite.</p><p>“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding. “Can I get wontons, Mr. Wonderful?”</p><p>“Absolutely, sweetheart.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I think I need a band-aid,” Darcy confessed. Brock was trying to teach her the rumba in the living room. It was much easier to dance when no one was watching them and she could be half dressed. She’d asked him to teach her the easiest dance. It was probably a coincidence that it was also the slowest, sexiest dance, Darcy thought.</p><p>“You bump something?” he asked, looking puzzled. He glanced around, then down at their bare feet. They’d shifted the furniture for extra room.</p><p>“No,” she said, grinning. “I meant a chocolate one. This is exercise!” She wiggled her hips and he grinned. “What?” she asked.</p><p>“I like your outfit,” Brock said. Darcy laughed. She was wearing a t-shirt and underwear. His fingers ran along the lace edge of her underwear slowly. “We’ve got a little time before dinner with Thor and Jane. You want to end this early?”</p><p>“I’m beginning to be concerned about your teaching methodology--ahhh!” Darcy said, as he picked her up swiftly. He looked at her face and grinned. </p><p>“I got kicked out of the profession for misdeeds,” he said, scrunching his nose. It was adorable.</p><p>“You villain!” Darcy said theatrically, as he carried her. They ended up kissing on the bed. “I’ve got an idea,” she told him. </p><p>“Yeah?” he said. They were facing each other. He grinned. </p><p>“Mattress rumba,” she said, wiggling her hips. He put his hand on her side. </p><p>“Mmm-hmm,” he said, eyes alight.</p><p>“I think I have a hidden gift,” Darcy said, biting her lip.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“What are we waiting for?” Evans asked Callahan. The three men were sitting in a SHIELD SUV, watching a hotel. Rollins had asked them to come here. He had a night exercise with some CIA agents from Langley who co-trained with SHIELD.</p><p>“We’re making sure Boothby makes it to the airport,” Callahan said. </p><p>“And if he doesn’t?” Smith said.</p><p>“We make it happen,” Callahan said. They waited fifteen minutes. No Boothby.</p><p>“He’s late,” Evans said in a low voice. “He’s skipping his flight.”</p><p>“I still say--” Smith was saying, when there was a knock on the car window. It was Natasha Romanoff. She slid in next to him.</p><p>“That we make him disappear?” she offered.</p><p>“Yeah,” Smith said, nodding. “She gets it.”</p><p>“The hotel operates by keycard,” Natasha said, holding up an unlabeled one.</p><p> “I’m doing it,” Smith said.</p><p>“We have to get him another flight,” Evans said, following the other two. Callahan stepped out of the car without a word.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Here--here is my ticket,” the man said. He had a British accent. His hand trembled. The gate agent at American was taken aback by the man’s appearance. He looked pale and sweaty.</p><p>“Sir,” she said. “Are you all right?”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” he said, nodding firmly. “I just need to get back to England. Bad breakup.”</p><p>“I understand,” she said. He was cute, she thought. She loved that accent.</p><p>“My ex’s new boyfriend has some--” he swallowed-- “very alarming friends.” He looked over his shoulder.</p><p>“Do we need to call security?” she offered.</p><p>“No,” he said, looking more terrified.</p><p>“Just sit down and they’ll make boarding announcements in five minutes or so,” she said. She watched as he sat down. He jumped a mile when someone set a backpack down with a thump. She watched him curiously. He seemed to calm down, but right as they called the flight, a stunning redhead walked through the terminal. She spoke to the British man and he literally fled down the passenger boarding bridge. “That’s weird,” she said to her coworker.</p><p>“Please,” the other gate agent said. “Skinny white boys are weird like that.” She looked at the redhead. “Where do you think she got that jacket? It would look good on me.”</p><p> </p><p>-The End-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for all your comments and kudos on this one! I had such fun with this prompt!</p>
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